The Bates Escape
by Lavinia Swire
Summary: When Anna is kidnapped, it is up to the staff at Downton Abbey to help Bates break out of jail and rescue her. Will they manage it in twenty-four hours? Who has kidnapped Anna? And will O'Brien's ninja hairpins save the day? Multi-chapter, ensemble. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: The Plan

**I don't own Downton Abbey. Trust me, things would be very different if I did.**

**Okay. I'm very, very excited about posting this. It's my first ever multi-chapter fic that I've actually finished and it's been my main project for months. It's my first crack!fic (thank you, Mei and Ariadne!) and my baby and you have no idea how thrilled I am to be posting it at last. Huggles to my sister for coming up with the idea that spawned this insanity, and massive thanks to the wonderful _AriadneO_ for being a truly epic beta and sorting out my many continuity fails (and letting me witter on about new crack ideas). **

**Anyway, I'll let you get on with it! I so hope you enjoy this and I would absolutely love to know what you think - please leave a review and let me know!**

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_Chapter One – In which Anna is kidnapped, Carson is disapproving, Thomas and O'Brien cannot eavesdrop and Ethel has a flair for the dramatics_

John Bates paced up and down, up and down his room as the wind battered the stone walls outside.

Arrested and imprisoned for his wife's murder. John Bates, a killer.

He had been doomed from the beginning, he thought miserably. Unable to find any other suspects, the police had been almost gleeful to arrest Bates, allowing them to close their files on Vera's murder. He had never stopped saying that he was innocent, and his lawyer had tried his hardest, but nothing could have saved him from prison.

Bates sat down heavily on the side of the bed and buried his head in his hands. There was only one thought going round his mind.

_Anna…_

She had never believed him to be guilty, even when the other servants had begun to turn away from him. Even when he had been convicted, she had refused to let go. "Till death do us part, remember?" she had said fiercely. "I knew this could happen, John, that's why I married you. I didn't want you pushing me away again, trying to be noble. We're together now."

Yes. They were married now. And he knew he wasn't guilty; he just needed to prove it. Perhaps, just perhaps, things might work out all right.

o o o o o

Several miles away, the staff of Downton Abbey were eating stew and, as they had been doing a great deal recently, discussing Mr Bates.

"I've said all I have to say on the matter," O'Brien informed everyone, ignoring Thomas's smirk. "The truth will out, everybody knows that. And now it has. There's nothing more to be said about it."

"It's all so mysterious, though," Daisy interjected, looking solemn. "We'd never have realised it was Mr Bates."

"We still don't know it was him," Anna interrupted, sounding as though she had a bad cold. "He says he didn't do it, and I believe him." She got up abruptly, leaving her half-finished plate of stew. "Mrs Hughes, might I be excused? I have some jobs I'd like to finish off." Before Mrs Hughes could respond, Anna had left the kitchen.

There was a moment's silence, then –

"Well, they say love is blind."

"Thank you, Thomas," Mr Carson said, frowning.

Mrs Hughes was looking at Anna's empty chair, a concerned expression on her face. "None of this has been easy for her, poor lass. It hasn't been easy at all."

o o o o o

Anna stumbled out into the pitch-black yard. It was raining, appropriately enough for her mood. She dragged a crate towards her, sat down heavily and buried her head in her hands, trying to stifle her sobs.

She knew John was innocent. He couldn't have murdered Vera, he just couldn't. And now he was locked up in some awful prison with nobody believing in him except for her. And she was all on her own.

The back door creaked open, but Anna wouldn't have noticed if the whole of Downton Abbey itself had crumbled around her.

Slowly a shadow began to stretch across the ground, cast from the lights still on in the kitchen and hallway. Someone was standing there, creeping forward, reaching closer and closer.

A hand clapped over Anna's mouth.

Stunned for a second, Anna tried to wriggle free, shout, _anything_, but it was too late. An arm clamped around her, pinning her wrists to her sides, and the hand was so tight over her mouth that she couldn't make a sound.

Anna screamed silently and kicked out, desperately fighting to escape. Her flailing foot caught her assailant hard, and the figure's grip relaxed for an instant. Anna dived forward. But she was too terrified to be cautious on the slippery stones. Her foot skidded and the ground rushed up to meet her.

Then – darkness.

o o o o o

Mrs Hughes entered the butler's office at seven o'clock the next morning with her hair still in curlers and a worried expression on her face.

"Mr Carson – will you please put that wretched wine book down for one second, you'd think it was glued to your hand at this rate – Anna seems to be missing. She isn't in her room, and nobody remembers seeing her last night. None of the maids have any idea where she might be. I haven't informed his Lordship yet, but I felt you should know."

Carson frowned as he digested the information. "Anna is missing? How, precisely, could she have vanished in the hours since yesterday evening? She's almost certainly still in the grounds."

"Well, maybe if that was all then I would agree with you, but unfortunately it isn't. There was a note on her pillow." She held it out.

Carson stood up and took the paper from her. The note was only short, and the sentences were made up of letters cut from a newspaper and pasted onto the paper. His frown grew deeper as he read the note.

_I have Anna Smith. John Bates must come and rescue her personally or else I will release the details of a major scandal (Turkish delight, anyone?). You have until midnight. More information later. _

"Well, our kidnapper certainly seems to have a taste for the dramatics," Carson murmured. He reread the words, peering at each individual letter as though he could make them move on the page to show another entirely harmless message instead.

This was most certainly not a joke.

Swiftly running through the options in his mind, he mentally crossed through them one by one. Tell his Lordship everything – Bates would rather stay in prison than have him find out the details of the scandal; he had proved that already. Tell the police – it was highly unlikely that they would be able to do anything in the given time. Do nothing – he could not risk it. The consequences, for Anna and for the Crawleys, could be dire.

"Well?" Mrs Hughes was watching him impatiently. "Do you have any idea what we should do now – alert the police, or simply pass the matter onto his Lordship?" Carson still stood staring at the note in silence. "Mr Carson? _Mr Carson?_" She almost yelled the last two words.

Carson threw back his shoulders.

"We are left with no choice in the matter, Mrs Hughes. Before the discovery of this, I would have been very happy to place this all in the hands of his Lordship or the police. However, it seems that we are stuck. I hate to say this, but we must do as they ask us to do. I shall go and see Mr Bates this morning and discuss the situation with him."

Mrs Hughes' eyes almost popped out of her head. "Do you simply plan to do as they ask, then? To give into the blackmail?"

"I most certainly will not just give in," Carson said, drawing himself up even further. "I will do everything I can to sort this out without having to obey their instructions, but the Crawleys could be ruined if this scandal is revealed, and a life is possibly at stake. I think it would prove to be safest to begin planning how we can follow the kidnapper's directions."

"You can't be serious, Mr Carson."

"It would not be my first choice, Mrs Hughes, make no mistake. I want nothing less than to go behind peoples' backs and give a criminal exactly what they want, but I cannot see that we have another option."

o o o o o

"Miss O'Brien!" Mrs Hughes burst into the kitchen the same second as the bells began to ring. "Anna is – ah – indisposed this morning, so you'll need to dress the girls."

O'Brien rolled her eyes expressively. "The only thing wrong with Anna is too much time spent moping over Mr Bates." She didn't quite dare defy Mrs Hughes, though, not when she was in this mood.

Mrs Hughes gave her a stern look. She still wasn't entirely sure what was going on – after all, it wasn't every day that a housemaid was kidnapped from under this very roof and Mr Carson began behaving as though he was an actor onstage – but she would not allow standards to slip at any cost. If Miss O'Brien thought she could get away with cheek, she was very much mistaken.

o o o o o

"I don't know what's going on this morning," Mary complained to the world in general, putting her teacup down with a clink. "Anna's ill, apparently, so O'Brien had to dress me this morning, and everyone's been rushing about here, there and everywhere." She lowered her voice. "Even Carson seems distracted, which must be one of the signs of the apocalypse."

"Well, you'd expect things to be busy, wouldn't you, seeing as there is a wedding taking place here in a week," Edith remarked. "I know you're doing your best to ignore it, which seems ridiculous seeing as you're the one getting married, but you could at least take into account all the extra work it means, since you're the one who invited half of London to your wedding."

"I hardly think my wedding's the greatest cause of consternation. If anything's causing awkwardness, it's Sybil being back with Branson." Mary stared accusingly at the empty chair that was Branson's place for the week.

Edith, meanwhile, was looking over at Sybil's former breakfast spot. Lady Sybil Branson had insisted that now she was a married woman she would jolly well stay in bed for breakfast as Mama did. So neither she nor Branson were present, leaving Mary and Edith free to gossip about the pair of them and the unsuitability of it all.

"Carson, is there a reason why my newspaper is full of holes?" Lord Grantham interrupted, not listening to a word his daughters were saying and waving his (admittedly rather odd looking) copy of _The Times_ in the butler's direction.

Carson's head snapped round, and he hastened over to the breakfast table in the most dignified manner he could manage. The newspaper appeared to have had a great deal of letters cut out of several of the leading articles. With his brain recording the information, he carefully assumed his concerned-and-slightly-annoyed expression.

"I do apologise, your Lordship, the footman who ironed it should have noticed, but it has been slightly chaotic below stairs this morning." Hoping that his face was impassive enough to hide this massive understatement, he continued. "Possibly it is some kind of practical joke on the part of the staff or the post boy. I assure you, my lord, I will get to the bottom of it as swiftly as I can." He certainly did plan to get to the bottom of this, although it might prove to be more complicated than just shouting at the footmen.

o o o o o

The moment Carson had hurried down the flight of stairs leading to the servants' hall, he all but seized Mrs Hughes by the wrist and dragged her into his study, closing the door briskly behind him.

"Mrs Hughes, it appears that the matter is even more serious than we first imagined. The letters glued to this 'ransom note'" – he gestured to the offending sheet of paper lying on his desk – "appear to have been cut from his Lordship's newspaper. This would suggest that the kidnapper is either a member of this household or has a very close connection. I personally think -"

"Before you explain what you think, stop pacing around like that! You aren't on the stage, and your dramatics are not going to help us sort out this mess that we have found ourselves in." Mrs Hughes rescued the note from the desk and peered at it more closely. "Who would do such a thing as this? If it really is true, why would they want to kidnap poor Anna? And demanding that Mr Bates comes and rescues her! I feel as though I've stepped into a very peculiar novel."

"Never mind any of that now. We must work out a plan of action." Carson marched to the door. "I shall go and see Mr Bates at once, while you prepare the downstairs staff, and then when I return we can work out precisely what is to be done."

"What – prepare the downstairs staff?" repeated Mrs Hughes incredulously. "You make it sound as though we are getting ready to fight a battle! What will they be doing?"

Carson paused in the doorway with the air of a commanding general. "We may have to be ready to fight a battle. Mrs Hughes, I have a feeling that this is going to be an exceptionally difficult task. In fact, I have a feeling that we are going to need all the help we can get."

"But we don't need to tell them all," objected Mrs Hughes. "Daisy and Thomas, for example, what would they be able to do?"

"Very well. You must tell Mrs Patmore, as we may find it necessary to use the kitchen later. And perhaps you should inform Lord Grantham, as Anna is, after all, in his employ, but he must on no account let the rest of the family know about any of this."

Mrs Hughes gaped at him. "_Use_ the kitchen? Whatever for? We aren't running a soup kitchen or a hotel, we have a kidnapped maid to find!" But Carson had already left the room.

o o o o o

Carson frowned deeply, perched on a hard chair in a room that would never pass one of Mrs Hughes' checks in a thousand years. He looked across at Bates, who was standing behind his chair looking ready to strangle somebody, and sighed; he had been unsure how to break the news to him, and had decided that plainly and simply would be best. Perhaps, he mused, that had not been one of his better ideas. Bates looked as though he was about to rush out of the room and comb the entire county to find Anna.

"What's – what has happened – who – will she be all right?"

"Calm yourself, Mr Bates." Carson gestured for him to sit down. "I find it highly improbable that they plan to harm Anna in any way. The real issue is that they are refusing to give further information to anybody apart from you."

"Me?" Bates looked even more bewildered. "What am I supposed to do? I'm in here, I can't get to her." He hit the table with his fist.

Carson cleared his throat. "I must say, Mr Bates, this is a sentence that I certainly never thought I would have cause to say, but the world is full of surprises. We shall have to – how shall I put it – break you out."

Bates stared at Carson, looking as though he had been hit over the head several times with a mallet.

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson, I think I must have misheard you."

"We shall have to break you out of prison," Carson confirmed. "I don't like this, Mr Bates, I don't like it at all, but unless we wish the details of the affair with Mr Pamuk to be on the front of every newspaper by tomorrow morning" – Carson swelled with indignation at the idea – "then we must act fast."

"And how do you propose to break me out?" Bates had the tone of a man who had fallen into a world so surreal that he had begun to take everything as it came along. "There's no way I could fight my way out, even if there was only one guard; not with my leg."

"We may have to enlist the help of the staff." Carson looked slightly embarrassed at the insanity of his own suggestion.

"The sta – very well. We shall do what we must."

"That is the attitude we must take," Carson nodded. "We will do what we need to do, but I must warn you now that any heroics are strictly forbidden. We have no idea who we are dealing with and why they have done this, and it could be highly dangerous. I do not want anyone hurt over this, and if things leave my control I shall have to consult the police."

"I understand, Mr Carson." Bates was barely listening. "Do you have the details of a plan already?" He wouldn't have been surprised if Carson had a drawer in his desk devoted to emergency plans and procedures, including What to Do In the Event of a Kidnapping.

"As it happens, I do. I gave the issue some thought on the way here, and I have one or two ideas. We don't have much time, so listen very carefully…"

o o o o o

"I don't know what sort of plan you and Mr Carson have cooked up between the two of you, but it's not going to be happening in my kitchen! Go and lock yourselves in the store cupboard together to plot, seeing as you're so keen to keep the key to yourself." Mrs Patmore scowled at the enormous wedding cake that was now taking pride of place on the sideboard. "Unlike other people, I have work to do, unless Lady Mary has decided she wants stale sandwiches for her wedding banquet."

Mrs Hughes breathed in slowly through her nose, closing her eyes for an instant. She had not planned to be spending her morning in this manner – there was an emergency with the linen closets that needed attention – but due to this unknown kidnapper messing up her plans, she was now having to deal with an irate Mrs Patmore and convincing her to let them use the kitchen for 'headquarters', as Carson insisted on referring to it. When she got her hands on the kidnapper, she would happily give them a piece of her mind.

However, that was all a long time away yet. She had to sort this out first.

"Very well, Mrs Patmore. You may be aware that Anna has been kidnapped, and whoever has carried out this action has demanded that Mr Bates is the one to rescue her or else they will release the details of some scandal that will apparently ruin the Crawley family forever. Mr Carson has taken charge and has decided that the most sensible plan is to break Mr Bates out of prison, find the kidnapper and save Anna, all without anybody getting arrested or killed, and ensuring that dinner runs smoothly at the same time. The kitchen is the most convenient place to plan, because various members of staff will be involved with the break out." Pausing to breathe, she stared at Mrs Patmore intimidatingly. "Do you have any questions? No? Good."

And she swept out of the room with as much dignity as she could manage.

Mrs Patmore blinked after her.

"Well, Hughsie's finally lost it," she remarked to the cat, which twined around her ankles and meowed in apparent agreement.

o o o o o

Lord Grantham frowned. "Anna has gone missing?"

"That's right, m'lord." Mrs Hughes felt very guilty being so economical with the truth, but she consoled herself with the fact that she was not technically lying at all. "We think it's very likely that she will be in the grounds or the surrounding area, and some of the servants will be looking for her, but we really don't feel that it's necessary to inform the police just yet. We will, of course, contact them if the situation becomes too serious for us to handle."

"I see." Lord Grantham still looked unsure, and Mrs Hughes seized the opportunity to finish her speech.

"If you wouldn't mind not telling anyone about this, m'lord, I would be grateful. We don't want to worry the family needlessly, and it's very likely Anna will be back soon anyway. I just felt that we ought to inform you in case there was a problem later."

Lord Grantham seemed to be wrestling with his instinct to contact the police anyway, or let Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, proven over time to be eminently sensible under any circumstances, deal with the situation. "There's no evidence of foul play, is there? Obviously it sounds ridiculous, but you do read the most dreadful stories in the newspaper."

Oh dear.

Mrs Hughes glanced at the floor. "Not as far as we know." She hoped her tone was casual enough.

"Very well. I really must inform my wife of this, but I can assure you I won't pass on any details or inform anybody else."

About as good as she could have hoped for, Mrs Hughes reflected, slightly giddy with the success of her plan. If everything else went as well as this, there would be no problems whatsoever.

o o o o o

"O'Brien, Robert just told me the strangest story." Cora pulled off her gloves and sat down. Strictly speaking, he had said to tell nobody, but O'Brien was her maid! It was practically a rule that she told her things of this nature. And O'Brien was sure to have a good idea or two.

"He did, m'lady? What kind of story?" O'Brien kept her voice even but listened closely.

"Mrs Hughes told him that Anna is missing." Cora looked up at her worriedly. "She hasn't been seen since yesterday, apparently, and nobody knows where she could be. You haven't heard about it, have you? Do you have any idea what could have happened?"

"No, m'lady. I've heard about it, of course, but I don't know where she could be." O'Brien repressed a sigh; she should have known. It was just Anna again. She'd only have run off for the day to go and cry over that murdering fool Mr Bates, leaving O'Brien herself to see to the girls on top of all her other work.

Cora looked at O'Brien, a serious expression on her face.

"O'Brien, would you do something for me?" Her eyes were very soft. "Would you help Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes in finding out where Anna is? The girls are so fond of her, you see, and they'd be dreadfully upset if anything happened – you do hear of the most terrible things happening to young women who go missing. If there's anything you can do, anything at all…"

"I doubt there will be, m'lady." O'Brien was struggling. On the one hand it would be a useless thing to agree to, seeing as Anna would only slink back later today with her tail between her legs, and O'Brien had far better things to do with her day than help old Hughsie in the meantime. But her Ladyship looked so pathetically hopeful, and her eyes were so wide, that O'Brien found herself nodding.

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, O'Brien." Cora patted her hand, smiling softly. "I don't know what I would do without you."

O'Brien smiled back at her. After all, Anna was sure to return by this afternoon, wasn't she? It wasn't like there was going to be anything she could do to help fetch her back, so it wouldn't waste too much of her time. Everything was going to be fine.

o o o o o

"Old Hughsie's acting even more strangely than usual, if you ask me." Thomas blew a stream of smoke across the yard.

O'Brien looked at him.

"Nobody did ask you, and you don't need to tell me that she's being funny today. I've had to deal with her all morning. I thought it was that she'd finally realised she's soft on Mr Carson, but I don't reckon it's that now."

"What is it, then?"

"How should I know? I'm not a mind reader, more's the pity." O'Brien frowned. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with Anna. Don't see why everyone's making such a fuss – she'll only show up later on."

Thomas stubbed out his cigarette briskly. "Well, there's only one way to find things out around here. Come on."

o o o o o

Back in the office, Carson sat opposite Mrs Hughes, looking exceptionally serious.

"It's time we got down to business. There's a limit to what we can do until we have further information on Anna's whereabouts, but I discussed things with Mr Bates and we have the bare bones of a plan. We worked things out very carefully and realised that the people we need for the actual – ah – break-out are Mr Branson, Miss O'Brien and Thomas."

There was a loud crashing sound from the corridor, and someone swore violently.

"What in Heaven's name…" Mrs Hughes rushed for the door and yanked on the handle, only to trip over Thomas, who was lying full-length in front of the door with a chair on top of him. O'Brien was just climbing to her feet, trying to smooth down her dress, fix her hairpins and hold an unconvincing expression of surprise and innocence on her face.

Carson appeared behind Mrs Hughes, glaring down at Thomas, who scrambled furiously to his feet.

"You had better come in," he said coldly, standing away from the door so the two could enter and then closing it firmly behind him.

o o o o o

"I will not put you through the embarrassment of trying to explain precisely why you felt the need to stand on a chair outside my _private_ office and listen into a _private_ conversation," Carson rumbled. "As today is rather…irregular anyway, I will let your behaviour slide this once."

O'Brien and Thomas exchanged a look of shock; after all that had happened today so far, O'Brien was mildly surprised her eyebrows hadn't permanently migrated to the top of her forehead.

"However, the plan will stand. I'm sure by now you know the details of the vile action that has taken place, so I won't bother going through that. The real issue is how our plan will work tonight."

Thomas looked at Carson politely. "Forgive me, Mr Carson, but I'm not entirely sure why you've decided Miss O'Brien and I are the best choices for this break-out plan."

"Because the two of you, quite frankly, are the most suitable for the task. You work well together and, with your combined skills, should be able to do an admirable job. You will be joined by Mr Branson, who I managed to speak with earlier and who has agreed to help. He will be taken ill this evening and will, to his great disappointment, be unable to attend dinner. Now, it is certainly a great stroke of luck that Mr Branson is visiting at this crucial time, as he will be able to drive the -" he resisted the temptation to say 'getaway car'; he did have a certain level of dignity "- the motor car, but he will thus be unable to assist with other aspects of the plan. There is nobody else on the staff who we think would be capable of managing the exertion and the subtlety required here."

There was silence. Carson looked at the pair, frowning.

"I must ask you to put your animosity for Mr Bates to the side for the time being. This is a matter of life and death, and you will therefore focus on the issue at hand. And Thomas, I should remind you that your position in this house is not strong. I do not like to use blackmail, but in this case it may prove unavoidable. Do I make myself clear?"

Two sullen nods answered his question.

"Good. Now, to business…"

o o o o o

The plan itself was a simple one. Partly because there were already so many things that had the potential to go wrong, and partly because Mrs Hughes feared that Carson really would have a heart attack if he had anything else to organise. It was rather lucky that their plan wasn't any more extensive, because once they had sorted out the bare essentials they would need to take with them, the entire back of the car would be packed full and there would be barely enough room for Branson, O'Brien and Thomas.

The main issue in Carson's eyes was that the breakout clashed with dinner and they would find themselves minus a footman, but Mrs Hughes had scoffed so much when he mentioned his fears that he had kept them to himself from then onwards. He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

o o o o o

"Why on Earth didn't you stop him?" Thomas groaned. They had just escaped from Carson's office, and, after two hours of lecturing from Carson, tutting from Mrs Hughes and a very elaborate flowchart, they both badly needed a cigarette.

"Me? Why is it down to me all of a sudden?" O'Brien was in a very bad mood. "You're just as capable of telling Mr Carson what he can do with his terrible ideas."

"You heard what he said! If I don't go along with it then he'll fire me. I didn't know how I was supposed to have got out of it."

O'Brien looked deeply uncomfortable. "Well I promised Her Majesty that I'd help find Anna if I could. I didn't think I'd actually be called upon to do something about it."

"You what? Why – oh, never mind that now. The point is, how are we going to get out of this? Any bright ideas? They can't make us do it; we have free will." Thomas kicked the wall dramatically.

O'Brien snorted. "What, so we should leave it up to Hughsie and the less incompetent footmen to mastermind a prison break? I think not. Mr Bates would be lucky to get out of jail in the next decade if they were in charge."

"I don't care if he is in jail for the next decade, to be quite frank. I hate that man."

Whatever O'Brien was about to say was lost as Daisy burst into the yard, looking deeply confused.

"Mr Carson's looking for you. He said he forgot – something about the safe use of a lasso."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Thomas threw his cigarette on the ground and stormed inside. O'Brien was about to follow him, rolling her eyes, when she was stopped by a very nervous looking Daisy.

"Miss O'Brien, if you – well, you saw something that meant you knew something, should you – I mean, supposing someone found something out, you know – should I?"

O'Brien frowned. "Assuming I had a clue what you were talking about, does this have something to do with Anna and that fool?"

Daisy immediately looked terrified.

"Of course not! No! Nothing at all." And she scurried back inside.

Shrugging, O'Brien followed her.

o o o o o

"Ethel! What are you doing here?" Mrs Hughes hissed, leaping up from behind her desk and nearly sending a mountain of paper onto the floor. Ethel looked at her blankly, shifting Charlie in her arms.

"It's Wednesday. You know I come down every Wednesday."

Ah. Ethel had indeed been visiting every Wednesday, to come and talk to Anna and the other maids – it really was very lonely for her, all alone in her tiny cottage except for Charlie. As it was, with all the upheaval going on today, Mrs Hughes had completely forgotten.

"Ah, yes. We have rather a situation at the moment, I'm afraid. It won't be at all relaxing for you – perhaps you had better go home."

Ethel's eyes lit up. "What's happened? You can tell me, Mrs Hughes, I'm dying for a bit of excitement. The last interesting thing that happened to me was when I lost Charlie in among all the washing in the cottage."

"I should have thought you'd had enough excitement in the last year or so to last you a lifetime, young woman," Mrs Hughes said reprovingly. Although, really, what harm could it do to tell Ethel? She would only find out from someone else anyway.

In fact…

Mrs Hughes opened her eyes wide. She had just had a rather spectacular idea. Mr Carson would hate it, of course, but it could be relatively useful to have Ethel on board.

Mrs Hughes made up her mind.

o o o o o

The kitchen – or headquarters, as Carson had rather taken to calling it – was utter pandemonium.

Mrs Patmore seemed to be in half a dozen places at once, rushing here, there and everywhere, and hurrying back every ten seconds to check that the rather spectacular wedding cake on the sideboard had not vanished. She was apparently under the impression that Downton was about to go under siege, and had rigged together a suit of armour for herself out of various pans and lids tied together with string. As Mrs Hughes came in, she was persuading Daisy to put on the same get-up, while O'Brien watched, amused.

"For Heaven's sake, girl, grab a few saucepans and we'll sort something out! You'll thank me later when the kitchen's overrun with a murdering gang and we're the only ones with our heads still attached to our bodies!"

The maids were dashing about, some being ordered around by Mrs Patmore, others trying to clear up the lunch dishes and keep out of the way at the same time. The only person who seemed unconcerned with the mayhem was Thomas, who was drinking a cup of tea and directing a trio of maids in the correct management of a ladder.

Mrs Hughes couldn't help tutting. What one really needed at a time like this, she thought, was a team of Carsons.

"Right, everybody!" she called. "We're going to have to be very careful with the dinner arrangements tonight. As you well know, the Dowager Countess, Mr Crawley and his mother and Sir Richard will be here, and it is imperative that things run as smoothly as possible."

Glancing behind her, she wondered at what moment Carson was going to come bursting through the door. She did feel a little guilty about sending Ethel to explain her role in the plan to him, although she was sure Carson would spare her the majority of his anger.

"Mrs Hughes!"

Carson's bellow made everyone look up. Mrs Hughes looked highly unconcerned.

Carson stormed into the kitchen, a confused-looking Ethel trailing behind him.

"This is turning into a complete farce! I should remind you that this is a serious issue here, not an excuse for disgraced ex-housemaids to parade about as though they are in a motion picture."

"And I should remind _you_," Mrs Hughes told him more quietly, ignoring the other servants who had gone silent and were pretending not to listen, "that there is quite possibly a life at stake. It makes perfect sense to have Ethel involved. You know as well as I do that getting Thomas and Miss O'Brien into the jail was always going to be difficult. With Ethel, things will be much easier."

"By having her pose as a previous fiancée of Mr Bates, complete with a baby she claims to be his? And is it strictly necessary to have Miss O'Brien acting as her mother?"

Thomas spat a mouthful of tea across the kitchen. O'Brien looked murderous.

"I don't see the problem," Mrs Hughes said innocently.

Carson turned purple. _"You can't take a baby on a prison break operation!"_

"With respect, Mr Carson, we're treading new ground here. I think this idea will work very well. Ethel will be able to rely on her – ah – feminine charms to persuade the guards to let her in and get Miss O'Brien in with her at the same time. And if that fails, a baby can work wonders, you know. It's all a matter of psychology," she finished importantly.

Carson stared at her as though she had just told him they would be disguising Bates as a can-can dancer and smuggling him out inside a ten-tier cake. He looked like he was about to shout something else, but was interrupted by the door bursting open.

Molesley hurried into the kitchen, looking exhausted.

"I – I just heard –" he managed, before collapsing into a chair, wheezing for breath. "Is Anna all right?"

"Of course she is, Mr Molesley," Mrs Hughes said kindly. "We're sorting things out right now, but she's going to be just fine."

O'Brien snorted. "Poor old Molesley missed his chance to play the knight in shining armour this time," she hissed to Thomas. "_Not_ that Mr Bates is much of a substitute, in my opinion."

Carson scowled at Molesley. Mrs Hughes would have rolled her eyes if it wouldn't have appeared very immature.

"How did you hear about it, anyway? Can't anyone keep a secret in this house? We're likely enough to get arrested as it is."

Molesley looked slightly embarrassed. "Mr Crawley may have mentioned it earlier."

"And how does he know, I wonder?" Carson muttered. Mrs Hughes sighed. She had no doubt that his Lordship had told him, despite her earlier warnings. Oh well.

Carson glared around at the attentive servants. "Enough of this. We've wasted plenty of time already."

"Yes, we have." Mrs Hughes jumped to his support. "We need to start packing the car. Thomas, you can help for once – and you three, stop fooling about with that ladder, you'll knock someone out," she added, directing a glare at the maids, who withered under her gaze. "We have to hurry up! You'll need to leave as soon as it gets dark – that should be around five o'clock. Luckily for us, our kidnapper was kind enough to enact their plan in December, not midsummer. And thank goodness Mr Branson also happens to be back, since our current chauffeur drives like he's part of a funeral procession."

"Luckily?" Mrs Patmore echoed. "I've got ten times the normal amount of food to prepare for Christmas, and that's not even mentioning the wedding, plus rations for tonight – oh my Lord, I'll never get anything finished at this rate." She hurried back over to the stove (as quickly as one could hurry when wearing half a tonne of cast iron), muttering under her breath and waving a wooden spoon menacingly.

Daisy timidly approached Carson. "Mr Carson, I –"

"Ah, Daisy. I'm afraid there's not anything for you to be doing at the moment, but I'm sure Mrs Patmore will be able to find you plenty to keep you occupied."

"But I –" Daisy began, before Mrs Hughes bustled over.

"Don't bother Mr Carson, Daisy, he's a very busy man! Get back to what you were doing before Mrs Patmore comes looking for you." She stopped. "Actually, don't. Go and get Mr Branson – he'll be in the garage, I expect. Ever since he got back he's been muttering things about double de-clutching and spark plugs and goodness knows what else. I don't know what he thinks the new chauffeur's been doing."

o o o o o

"I suppose it was you who told O'Brien about Anna, despite me expressly telling you not to?" Robert enquired wearily of his wife.

"Of course it was me!" Cora exclaimed, looking astonished that he had even needed to ask. "Why wouldn't I have told her? I tell dear O'Brien _everything_!"

Looking very concerned for an instant, Robert pressed on. "Even so, you shouldn't have mentioned it. It's best if as few people know as possible, especially if the police need to be involved later."

Cora pouted. "You would have told Bates if it had been the other way around. Anyhow, O'Brien would have found out later."

Robert couldn't argue with that.

"I'm sure Carson knows exactly what he's doing," Cora continued, smiling fondly. "He must be in his element. I just hope Anna being missing doesn't disturb dinner too much, or you know how upset he'll get."

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Robert reassured her. "Anna will be found by the end of the day, I'm sure of it, and then we have the wedding to look forward to. It's all going to be wonderful."

o o o o o

"Mr Carson, I can't find Mr Branson anywhere," Daisy announced, rushing into the butler's pantry.

"Did you check in the garage, Daisy?" enquired Carson wearily.

"Yes! I did, honest, and I've looked in the kitchen and the cupboards and just everywhere, and I really don't know where he could be."

"I somehow doubt Mr Branson would be in one of the cupboards, Daisy, he is not a gnome. If you really have checked everywhere, I had better look myself – I don't want anybody jumping to any rash conclusions before we have all of the facts."

Striding past a sullen looking Thomas in the corridor, who was having instructions barked at him by Mrs Patmore, and ignoring the mess of the kitchen entirely, Carson hurried outside and round the back of the house.

Having not been in the garage before, it was rather interesting to be there for the first time, despite the circumstances. There were all sorts of tools and strange pieces of machinery lying about – probably a safety hazard, but he would deal with that later.

More to the point, there seemed to be a strange noise coming from the car.

His mind leaping to thoughts of kidnappers and violent attackers, Carson frowned into the gloom.

"Mr Branson? Is that you? Are you quite all right?"

Picking up a spanner – he did not wish to be unarmed while facing a potentially violent criminal – he advanced towards the car…

o o o o o

"Did you see his face when he came in?" Mrs Patmore gasped, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks.

"That's quite enough of that, thank you." Mrs Hughes entered the kitchen again, looking stern. "Mr Carson's in his office with a glass of brandy for the shock, so kindly don't disturb him."

Mrs Patmore attempted to look contrite.

"I am very sorry, Mrs Hughes, but you cannot deny that Mr Carson interrupting Mr Branson and Lady Sybil in the car doing…well, it must have been a rather amusing thing to see."

"It was most certainly not amusing!" Mrs Hughes said hotly. "Aside from the fact that we are currently in the middle of committing a serious criminal act and have no time to waste laughing at others, Mr Branson had no right to be doing…_that_ in his Lordship's car with Lady Sybil, no right at all. I'm sorely tempted to tell him to get out of Downton right now, wedding or no wedding." She glared menacingly through the wall in the general direction of the garage. "Unfortunately, he is the only person here who can drive at speed safely, and I'm not going to risk Anna's wellbeing for his act of foolishness. Now back to work, everybody, please. We've wasted enough time as it is."

Thomas smirked from the corner.

o o o o o

Lady Sybil was wringing her hands.

"I'm so sorry for disturbing you, Mrs Hughes, I just wanted to say how sorry I was for…what happened earlier. With Tom, I mean." She turned a very fetching shade of pink. "We had no idea Mr Carson would come in, I swear. Is he all right?"

"Quite all right, m'lady, almost back to his usual self," Mrs Hughes said dryly. "Believe me when I say he would have had no intention of disturbing you if he had known what you were doing."

Sybil blushed again, then hesitated. "Also, I was wondering if you might need any extra help." She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "With the plan. Helping Mr Bates escape."

Mrs Hughes stared at her. "How on Earth do you…I see. Mr Branson couldn't resist telling you, could he?"

"I would have found out anyway!" Sybil said defensively. "But I _am_ a trained nurse, and I thought I could be useful."

"Thank you for the offer, m'lady, but I think we have quite enough help as it is." Mrs Hughes paused. "Out of interest, who else knows about the plan?"

Sybil considered. "Well, Papa knew about Anna going missing, and he told Mama and she told O'Brien. Oh, and he told Cousin Matthew this morning, and Matthew must have told Cousin Isobel by now. None of them know about the kidnapping or the break-out parts, though." She looked a little guilty. "As a matter of fact I told Mary and Edith about those bits, but I'm sure they won't tell anyone else."

Mrs Hughes restrained a sigh and got up from her chair. "I should hope not, m'lady. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I have work to do. And please stay away from the garage for the rest of today!"

o o o o o

"I only hope Anna's back by Saturday," Mary said absently, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears and examining herself in the mirror. "If O'Brien's helping me get ready, she'll pull my corset strings so tight that I'll faint halfway through the ceremony."

"Oh, Mary, is that all you think about?" Edith snapped. "Anna's been kidnapped and, for all anyone knows she could be dead or locked in a suitcase in a boat halfway across the Channel by now."

"It's such a dreadful thing to happen," Sybil chipped in. "But you must admit it's rather romantic as well. A maid stolen away from her home, only able to be rescued by her one true love."

"Dear me!" Mary said sardonically, adjusting her necklace. "I do hope Sir Richard doesn't try to express his adoration for me by having me kidnapped on my way to the church. Anyway, I'm not entirely sure how adept Bates will prove to be at rescuing Anna, what with his cane, even if the servants do manage to break him out."

"Oh, I don't know," Edith said mildly. "If O'Brien's on Bates's side, I feel sorry for the kidnapper."

o o o o o

In the end, all the servants insisted on being present for the departure from the drive.

Mrs Patmore had found it impossible to keep her armour on in the heat of the kitchen, and had only kept on a large saucepan lid for a shield, strapped on with twine over her apron. She was standing beside Daisy and sending her trotting off every couple of minutes to ask Thomas if he had remembered to pack something or other. O'Brien and Thomas stood next to the car not looking at anyone. Ethel, on the other hand, was in her element, chatting away to anyone who would listen about whatever passed through her head. She had spent the last two hours 'practicing her lines' in various corners, and now she was almost incoherent with excitement. Sybil had come down to see everyone off and was, at present, bidding Branson a very enthusiastic farewell in the corner while the others politely averted their eyes.

Carson had wanted to take an inventory before the car left, but there was so much squashed into the back seat that it was nearly impossible to open the door without vanishing under a mountain of provisions and general useful items. O'Brien privately doubted that they would have much use for a picnic hamper, complete with plates, cutlery, teacups, a sugar sifter and enough rations to last until the next century. And why Carson had a lasso, a large bag of marbles and an enormous flashlight as long as her forearm secreted in various secret places around his pantry she was sure she would never know.

All the staff suddenly stopped talking as Carson strode impressively outside alongside Mrs Hughes (Sybil leapt away from Branson, turning scarlet) and faced Thomas and O'Brien, who looked rather alarmed. Branson and Ethel joined them by the car, Branson looking amused, Ethel dangerously excited.

"On behalf of all the staff, I would like to wish you the very best of luck. We have done all the planning we can, but it comes down to you four. It will be difficult, and perhaps dangerous, nobody is denying that, but if you stand strong and –"

"Oh, for pity's sake, Mr Carson, we haven't got time for a speech now!" Mrs Hughes interrupted hastily. "Save that for when they get back. We have a deadline to work to!"

Dignified as always, Carson stepped back, and O'Brien, Thomas and Ethel climbed into the car, somehow negotiating the enormous 'escape kit'. Branson, not noticeably chastised from his earlier telling-off by Mrs Hughes, hopped into the front seat and waved cheerily at everyone. The engine roared to life.

Now sitting in the backseat on top of a pile of coats, Ethel was squeezing Charlie so tightly he was nearly squeaking. Thomas and O'Brien looked rather less excited. They were squashed together in the front seat, not meeting anyone's eyes and clearly regretting ever signing up to this plan.

Mrs Hughes nudged Carson. "There won't be much need to keep things quiet now, Mr Carson. All the servants know, as well as everybody upstairs. The only people we have to stop finding out are Sir Richard and the Dowager Countess when they arrive tonight."

Carson looked rather embarrassed.

"As a matter of fact, Mrs Hughes, the Dowager Countess was visiting earlier today, and I took the liberty of updating her on the current situation."

Mrs Hughes was speechless for a second. "What did she say?"

Carson chuckled. "She wished us luck."

"Well," sighed Mrs Hughes, watching the car as it sped down the driveway, "I have a feeling we're going to need it."

* * *

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2: The Breakout

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter; I was incredibly thrilled that people enjoyed reading my insanity! Without further ado, here is the next instalment of crazy...**

* * *

_Chapter Two – In which there are fights, Carson uses the telephone, Ethel is inappropriate and Thomas is a nanny_

The journey to the prison was very quiet, bar a few squeaks of excitement from Ethel. Thomas and O'Brien sat in a horror-struck trance, while Branson whistled softly under his breath. All too soon, they were pulling up on the gravel drive outside a red brick building that resembled a boarding school or a large townhouse. It reminded O'Brien nastily of the orphanage she had grown up in, right down to the bars on the windows.

"Well, this is it." Branson still looked rather too amused for O'Brien's liking.

"It's all right for some," she told him sharply, trying to hide her nerves. "You just have to stay sitting nice and snug in the car. We're the ones who have to do the breaking out part."

"Don't get killed or anything," Thomas said abruptly. "Otherwise I have to deal with those idiots up at the house on my own, and I'd end up going insane."

O'Brien snorted. "I'm hardly likely to go giving my life for Mr Bates, you noodle." She smirked at him. "I'm perfectly able to defend myself if anybody tries anything."

"I feel sorry for the person who ends up fighting you," Thomas said with feeling. "They won't know what's hit them."

"I should hope that nobody's going to end up fighting anybody. As long as everybody sticks to the plan -" she gave Ethel a warning look "- it ought to be fine."

Ethel looked up blankly from adjusting her dress and sticking out her chest. "What's happening?"

"Oh good," O'Brien said sarcastically. "We haven't even got out the car yet, and I can already tell that this is going to be a disaster." She managed to open the door without falling out, despite being squashed against it by Thomas and one of the many bags of 'emergency provisions' provided by Mrs Patmore, and climbed carefully out of the car. Ethel almost fell out of the rear door, grabbed Charlie and shot round to the other side of the car, raring to go.

O'Brien leaned back in through the window.

"Well, good luck."

Branson gave her a jokey salute and then pulled away as she stepped back from the car.

Ethel threw back her shoulders and marched straight over to the bored-looking guard by the door. O'Brien held back for a second and watched Ethel gesticulating, not overly keen to go and join in the conversation. It was only just hitting her, looking up at the building, what an enormous thing they were about to do. And how many things could possibly go wrong, even if it was one of Carson's patented plans.

She shook herself. She had to pay attention. If anything were to go wrong it would probably involve Ethel saying something incriminating, and O'Brien had to make sure she kept an eye on her.

Hurrying towards the prison entrance, O'Brien managed to catch the end of what Ethel was saying.

"…and he's never even seen his son! I only just found out he was in here, otherwise I would have come sooner. I'm not going to allow him to shirk his responsibilities for a second longer." Ethel was practically waving Charlie in the guard's face.

"Official visiting hours are over, madam," the guard said pompously. "If you can come back at ten o'clock tomorrow -"

"Are you honestly telling me that my child is to be separated from his father for yet another long, lonely night?" Ethel wailed.

"It's been almost two years, you say. I'm sure one night won't kill him," the guard said unfeelingly. "It's against official regulations."

O'Brien stepped forward slightly and sent her finest glare at the guard. "If you think I'm going to allow you to send my daughter away with a flea in her ear, you've got another think coming."

The guard looked slightly worried, and O'Brien couldn't help feeling a twinge of pride.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's official regulations."

Bloody hell, O'Brien thought, was this whole plan going to be ruined by one bloke in a uniform who thought that he ruled the country? She stepped up her scowl.

"And _I'm_ sorry, but you're going to have to let us in. I'm not having this; you're defending unacceptable behaviour." She jabbed her finger at the guard, who took a step backwards. "You are treating my daughter like a criminal and protecting the father of her child."

"Wait here one moment, please." The guard, looking very wary, disappeared back inside. O'Brien frowned after him.

"I hope he hurries up," Ethel muttered. "If the timings go wrong now, everything's going to be ruined."

O'Brien looked at her in surprise. "Oh, so you _were_ listening to Mr Carson's logistics breakdown earlier. I thought that was when you decided to have a nap."

Ethel was about to start bickering when the guard reappeared. "Well, this is highly irregular, but I have spoken to my superior and, as these are – er – unusual circumstances, we are able to make an exception. This is a one-off, mind."

Ethel tutted. "Well, of course it's a one-off. How many children of mine do you think Mr Bates has fathered?" She swept past the guard with her nose in the air, leaving O'Brien to awkwardly thank the guard for his time.

"Don't worry about it, ma'am. Though don't try this again; it's highly irregular." The guard paused. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you are a very devoted mother, ma'am. Your protection of your daughter is most noble and utterly to your credit. I hope she realises how lucky she is to have such a loving parent as yourself." With that he strode back inside.

O'Brien wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

o o o o o

After the success of getting inside, both women were feeling rather euphoric, and it took being assigned an incredibly grumpy guard to escort them to Bates' cell as well as the pervasive smell of disinfectant to bring them back down to earth.

O'Brien and Ethel hurried after the guard as he walked briskly down one long passageway after another. It was very cold inside the prison, and very quiet.

The guard was muttering to himself. "…women showing up all hours of the day and night, acting like this is some guided tour. I don't know why I put up with it, honestly I don't. They ought to raise our wages, since we're understaffed anyway. I'm not happy with it, I'm not happy at all…"

"Oh, stop moaning on, you old windbag," Ethel whispered, sticking her tongue out at his back.

They eventually arrived outside a heavily padlocked door where another guard was standing, looking exhausted.

"Two visitors for Mr Bates." The guard looked deeply unimpressed. "And Ledford, there's someone on the telephone downstairs wishing to speak to you."

The guard outside Bates' room sighed. "If it's my wife, tell her to shove off. Ever since we got a telephone installed at home, she's been ringing me all the time asking me what I want for tea or if she should knit her Aunt Mabel in Clacton a mauve scarf or a violet one for Christmas."

"They didn't give a name, but they said it was urgent."

"Well I can't go, not until Osborne gets here, lazy beggar. God knows what he's doing; he's probably forgotten he's doing the late shift." O'Brien knew exactly what had happened to Osborne; if the plan was going accordingly, he would be unconscious next to a wall with Thomas rifling through his pockets to find his keys (one of Carson's many emergency back-up plans in case Things Went Awry, as he had ominously put it).

The first guard did not appear sympathetic. "Urgent," he repeated. "So you'd better go and deal with it right now."

Ledford jerked a thumb at the Ethel and O'Brien. "Can you wait and keep an eye on these two?"

"No, I certainly can't! I'm on the desk. You'll have to wait, or else go now and get your wife off the phone as quickly as you can."

Ledford swore under his breath and glanced at the two women. Ethel jiggled Charlie in her arms and smiled winningly at him. He sighed.

"Go in then. I'm locking the door," he said, jangling the keys loudly. "If you two ladies think you'll be alright, that is."

"Oh, John's the only one in danger here," Ethel told him, sounding a little hysterical. "Do you know what he did to me? I could kill him!"

The guard looked slightly concerned. "Well, if you're sure…" He ushered them into the cell and slammed the door shut behind them. They could hear the bolts clattering shut, then footsteps fading into nothing.

o o o o o

Carson frowned at the receiver.

"I can't hear anything."

"Well holding it against your ear might be a start! Stop staring at it like it's a hand grenade." Mrs Hughes peered over his shoulder as though the machine would be able to give them a clue as to what was going on at the other end of the line.

"Hello? If that's you, Nora, I told you to stop phoning me at work! We've been through this a hundred times, I don't care what colour scarf Mabel wants!"

Carson held the receiver away from his ear and frowned at it for a moment before answering.

"My name is not Nora, whoever that may be." He snapped back to his usual telephone manner. "This is Mr Carson the butler of Downton Abbey. I assume you are Mr Ledford?"

"Er, I am."

"Very good. I am telephoning about a matter concerning Mr John Bates, a previous employee of this house. There have apparently been a few issues with his paperwork and his employment contract. The forms have gone missing and I need to fill in new copies urgently. A matter of protocol, you understand."

"Um." The voice sounded very unconvinced. "It's isn't really the easiest time, you see. You'll need to speak to reception, I'm afraid -"

Carson bristled. "I beg your pardon? Do not try to fob me off; this is essential work. Believe me, I would rather be dealing with somebody who understands the particulars here, but it is required that I speak to you directly." He didn't want to have to waste time concocting an explanation and decided to rely on pompous indignation. "I should mention that you are effectively attempting to delay both the Earl of Grantham and His Majesty the King, for whom this paperwork is technically being completed. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a pause. Mrs Hughes held her breath.

"Perfectly." The voice sounded rather tired. "Have you got them there, then?"

"One moment, Mr Ledford." Carson rustled a few sheets of paper next to the receiver. "I'm sorry for the delay, but the housekeeper appears to have misplaced the forms." Mrs Hughes gaped at Carson's cheek, but luckily didn't contradict him. "Would you be able to stay on the line for a moment whilst I relocate them?"

o o o o o

It was the first time O'Brien had seen Bates since his trial, and she was a bit shocked, she had to admit. She would never be a supporter of his, but even she wouldn't condone this. He looked pale, and she had a suspicion he had lost weight. He was clearly pining over Anna, the dimwit.

Everyone stood around awkwardly for a second. There was a limit to what you could say to a man who had been jailed for murder and whose cane you had once kicked over in front of two dozen people, O'Brien reflected.

Luckily (or not) the silence was quickly broken by Ethel.

"You know, Mr Bates, I've been practicing my lines for so long that I'd almost convinced myself you really are Charlie's father. It's funny what you can make yourself believe, isn't it? I've even started seeing a resemblance. He's got your nose, don't you think?"

Even in the complete hopelessness of the situation, O'Brien couldn't help smirking. Trust Ethel.

Bates said nothing. Honestly, O'Brien thought, is it down to me to do everything around here?

"Right, come on. We aren't going to get anything done by standing around like ninnies. Ethel, do you have the rope?"

"Oh, yes! I almost forgot!" Ethel hitched her dress up to her knees (chivalrous as ever, Bates averted his eyes), carefully balanced Charlie on one arm and started to untie an enormous length of rope that she had wrapped around one leg.

"I never thought I'd be grateful for those hideous dresses Mrs Hughes found for me," she told them conversationally as she unknotted the rope, throwing loops of it down on the floor as she went along. "I barely even realised they were dresses, they looked more like old sacks. But I'll say one thing for them, you could have legs the sizes of tree stumps and nobody would ever notice."

"Stop chattering and hurry up," O'Brien muttered. "We don't have much time until the guard gets back."

Thanks to Mr Carson's over-provision, the rope covered half the floor of the cell, and would certainly be long enough to reach the ground from here, with plenty left over.

O'Brien tied one end of the rope very securely to the bars the way Carson had taught her earlier (where had the butler learnt to do all those knots in the first place? Had he been in the Navy?) and hurled the other end out the window into the darkness. After a moment she felt a tug on the end of the rope. Good. At least Thomas was paying attention.

O'Brien peered out of the window. Now Thomas would be attaching the rope to the back of the car. Now he would be signalling to Branson and giving an irritable tap on the window when he missed the signal in the darkness. _Now_ -

There was the sound of an engine revving outside. Everyone crossed their fingers.

Then, with an immense clatter, the bars jerked out of the window. A second later, another crash marked the landing of the bars on the gravel outside.

Ethel whooped.

"Keep your voice down, for Heaven's sake!" O'Brien glared at Ethel, who didn't look noticeably shamefaced. "Either they're going to work out what's going on, or they'll think that was you bashing Mr Bates' head in, but whatever they assume, they're going to come running up here. We don't have much time at all."

She was interrupted by the end of the rope flying back in through the window. Mr Carson's lesson on the safe handling of a lasso had clearly sunk in, O'Brien thought.

"Right. Let's get going."

o o o o o

Carson handed his empty tea cup back to the housekeeper.

"That was most refreshing, thank you, Mrs Hughes. I suppose I had better get back to Mr Ledford now before he decides I must have vanished entirely into thin air."

Chuckling slightly, he reached for the receiver.

"Thank you for your patience, Mr Ledford. Now, there are a number of details required for the forms about Mr Bates' current place of residence, which is, of course, the local prison. If I could ask you for just a few minutes more of your time? These forms really are most important. Firstly, if you could give me the full address of the prison, the manager's address and the work address of your direct superior…"

o o o o o

O'Brien finished lashing the rope to the table leg – the cells had clearly been designed to be escape-proof, but they couldn't have counted on Mr Carson organising this particular escape and covering every possibility – and threw the end out of the window for the second time.

"Ethel, you go first." Bates spoke for the first time and was being as noble as ever, O'Brien thought with slight annoyance. He hadn't changed at all.

Ethel took a step backwards. "I'm not climbing down there! What about Charlie? I can't carry him down the rope! And what about my skirts?"

O'Brien looked at her incredulously. "Oh, stop complaining, just – what's that?"

"What's what?" Ethel pouted.

The sound of footsteps was coming nearer and nearer. Bates swore.

A very young-looking guard's face appeared in the small barred window in the door, looking utterly astonished. Ethel screamed – rather more loudly than necessary, O'Brien thought, wincing in pain.

The door burst open.

Ethel shrieked again. "I've got a baby! You can't hurt me, I've got a baby!" She held Charlie protectively against her chest and batted her eyelashes at the guard, who blushed. O'Brien rolled her eyes.

"Give him here," she ordered Ethel, taking Charlie from her without waiting for her to say anything. Taking up the extra piece of emergency rope that Carson had made them pack, she wound it loosely around Charlie again and again, making knots carefully in strategic places. She never thought she would be saying this, but thank Heaven for Mr Carson's over-preparation and desire to make sure that everyone was ready for every eventuality.

"What are you doing?" Ethel said curiously. Even the guard had stopped trying to look fierce and was edging nearer.

O'Brien tied two large loops with the end of the rope and slid one onto each of Ethel's arms, with the mass of rope containing Charlie resting against her back.

"There. A perfect baby carrier." Charlie gurgled in agreement. "Now get out of the window and down the rope before I fling you down myself!"

Tucking her skirt carefully into the top of her petticoat, leaving an awful lot of her stockinged legs visible – O'Brien saw the young guard gulp – Ethel clambered carefully out of the window, with Charlie kicking his legs delightedly at his new mode of transport.

"Good luck!" she hissed at O'Brien in a stage whisper before swinging out of the window and shimmying down the rope. Reaching the bottom, she blew a kiss dramatically up at the window before disappearing into the darkness.

O'Brien exchanged a look with Bates. That had certainly been an unexpected interlude, although O'Brien suspected that Bates was more shocked at her craft skills than the miraculous luck they had just had. She was about to suggest that they followed Ethel out the window before the guard regained the power of movement, when the door crashed open again.

o o o o o

Thomas leaned his head in through Branson's window.

"Okay, one guard will be waking up minus his keys and with a nasty headache tomorrow. I'm going to head back and wait near the door in case there's a problem and that lot inside can't clamber down the rope." He straightened up. "Oh, looks like one of them's out at least."

Ethel almost danced over to the car.

"That was one of the best moments of my life," she declared melodramatically. "I knew I should have been an actress. You should have seen me in there! And Miss O'Brien wasn't bad either," she added fairly.

Thomas looked impatient. "Yes, very good, well done. Now get in the car."

"I'm not just sitting and waiting in the car; I'll miss out on all the fun!" Ethel sounded utterly appalled at the idea.

"What did you think you'd be doing?" Thomas asked reasonably. "You can't leave Charlie here while we all run off."

Ethel pulled a face. "It's not very glamorous, is it? Being stuck back here with a baby. What would the Pankhursts say?"

"Oh, for -" Thomas stopped himself. "I need to get back. Branson, keep an eye on her." He jerked his thumb at Ethel, then disappeared into the darkness.

o o o o o

"Now, Mr Ledford, just one or two more questions," Carson informed the unfortunate man. "Firstly, if you could inform me -"

But Ledford had apparently had enough.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Carson, but I really must get back. Please – er – feel free to telephone back tomorrow morning if you have any further questions."

And before Carson could say anything, the guard had hung up.

"Hello? _Hello?_"

Carson threw the receiver back down onto the hook. If he hadn't been a butler and a respected pillar of the house he would have sworn, but he settled for glowering at the machine and muttering under his breath about incompetent fools.

Mrs Hughes waited patiently for him to stop chuntering. "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

Carson's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Well? The guard is now off the line and is therefore no longer distracted from Ethel and Miss O'Brien's actions. All manner of chaos is probably going on at the prison – undoubtedly caused by our rescuers – and we face discovery and prosecution at any moment. How precisely did things go well?"

Refusing to be quelled by Carson's predictions of doom, Mrs Hughes tried again. "Look at it this way, Mr Carson. You managed to keep Mr Ledford distracted for a good few minutes, which means that, providing nobody did anything especially stupid, Mr Bates should be well on his way to being rescued by now."

"I should have gone with them. That way I would have known precisely what was going on."

"As if I would have let you go gallivanting off on some prison break!" Mrs Hughes scoffed. "The best place for you is right here so you can manage from a distance. I'm sure everything is absolutely fine."

"We don't know how well things have been going at all, Mrs Hughes – for all we know, everyone is now in custody and the police are going to arrive at any moment." Carson was becoming gloomier by the second.

"Don't be so ridiculous," Mrs Hughes snapped, finally losing patience. "There's absolutely no point in trying to guess what's going on now. We will just have to wait until they return and then decide where to go next." She looked at the clock again. "More to the point, it's seven o'clock and you haven't rung the dressing gong yet."

Carson bounced to his feet.

"This is what I mean about disasters!"

"Just slow down!" Mrs Hughes called desperately after him as he steamed towards the door. "Otherwise you really will have a heart attack, and that would make everything even more complicated."

o o o o o

The grumpy guard who had brought O'Brien and Ethel to Bates' cell stared around, stupefied, for a moment before he regained control of his jaw.

"What on Earth are you doing?" he screamed, doing a very good impression of Carson minutes away from a heart attack. O'Brien wasn't sure if the statement was being directed at her and Bates or at the other guard, who was cringing and looking ready to sink into the floor.

The guard slammed the door, strode across to the window and yanked the rope free from the belt it was attached to, dropping their means of escape out of the window.

"Now." The amount of venom the guard managed to pack into one syllable was quite astonishing. "If my eyes are not deceiving me, it looks as though you -" he pointed at O'Brien "- are trying to break out a wanted criminal and murderer."

O'Brien scowled at the 'wanted criminal', who was looking apologetically at the guard and appeared ready to discuss the entire plan in a calm and reasonable manner.

"I promise you, sir, I can explain -" he began. The guard looked ready to explode, and O'Brien trod heavily on Bates' foot.

"Well, it's not like we're all that fond of Mr Bates," she informed the guard. "We just need to borrow him tonight. We'll be perfectly happy to return him to you tomorrow."

The guard did not look amused and stepped towards them, rolling up his sleeves. O'Brien felt more than a little apprehensive; this was precisely what she had been worrying about. She might have promised Her Ladyship that she would help Carson and Mrs Hughes find Anna, but she hadn't signed up for getting knocked out.

Bates sighed heavily.

"I was hoping to avoid this. Miss O'Brien, if you would kindly stand out of the way."

Prudently deciding that now was not the moment to complain about Bates' chivalry (there was a time for standing up for oneself and a time for self-preservation), O'Brien complied.

The guard threw a heavy punch at Bates, who ducked, punched back with rather more accuracy and followed up with a hit behind the knees with his cane. O'Brien took another large step backwards as the guard grunted and narrowly missed Bates' head with his fist.

She had no idea how this was going to turn out. The middle of the cell was turning into an impromptu boxing arena, with Bates and the guard circling each other, edging around the table awkwardly and throwing punches. The other guard was frozen to the spot and would clearly be no help to his colleague, but Bates had a limp and was at least five inches shorter than the guard he was currently fighting, not to mention only half as wide. Yanking a hairpin out of the front of her hairstyle, O'Brien stood watching the fight closely. At least she would be able to defend herself if necessary.

Suddenly the guard caught Bates a blow on the side of his head, causing to stagger and lose his footing for a moment. Looking satisfied, the guard stepped towards him, raising his fists. O'Brien made up her mind. This might not be something she had agreed to, but she would struggle escaping on her own and, in any case, she wasn't about to let Bates get beaten to a pulp and give him even more of an excuse for acting like a martyr.

Seizing the opportunity, she stuck out her foot. The guard, about to finish the fight once and for all, tripped and fell heavily on his knees. O'Brien suspected that the minute's grace she had won for being a lady had just run out as he turned on her with a face like thunder.

Bates took that moment to swing his cane violently at the guard and hit him under the chin. O'Brien stepped out of the way swiftly a moment before the guard crumpled to the floor. A final punch to the head knocked him out cold, leaving O'Brien staring and Bates breathing heavily and smoothing out his shirt.

The second guard had only a second to gaze in horror at his fallen colleague before O'Brien jabbed him in the eye with her hairpin. Shouting in pain, he hardly noticed Bates manhandling him into a pair of handcuffs withdrawn from O'Brien's handbag.

"Where are the keys for this cell? In your pocket?" Bates could really sound quite terrifying when he made an effort, O'Brien reflected, although the fight of a minute earlier clearly meant that the guard had no plans to mess with him.

"I haven't got them," the guard moaned.

O'Brien poked him with her hairpin again, glaring. "Don't mess about; we don't have time for your silly games. Where are the keys?"

"I told you," the guard shouted desperately, "I don't have them on me. They were in the door,only _he_ shut it." He gestured towards the unconscious guard with his foot.

Bates and O'Brien automatically turned to look at the door, which the guard had shut as he entered the room. It was now most definitely locked with the keys on the outside.

Bates hurried over to the other guard and rifled through his pockets in desperation, but there were no keys to be found. He looked as though he was about to punch something, but thought better of it and instead threw himself down into the only chair in the cell.

"Well, that's it," he said dully. "We're locked in here with no keys. The extra rope we do have is far too short to use as a rope ladder. We're stuck."

O'Brien looked at him disdainfully. Obviously prison had done little for his intellect.

"Crikey, if it was down to you we'd be stuck in here for the next century." She waved her hairpin threateningly. "Haven't you ever heard of lock-picking?"

For a very alarming moment she thought Bates was about to kiss her.

"Do you know how to pick a lock?"

O'Brien rolled her eyes. "No, I'm brandishing a hairpin in the air for my own amusement." Deciding to waste no more time on inane conversation, she headed for the door, knelt down and carefully inserted the end of the hairpin into the lock.

It took a few minutes for her to get the pin into what seemed to be the right position – it had been a while since she had needed to do this in practice, although Carson's refresher lesson had certainly helped. Bates, meanwhile, had finished tying up the unconscious guard and had used some of the leftover rope to knot the other guard's feet together.

"Hurry up!"

"Oh, I was just taking my time. It's not like we have a schedule or anything," O'Brien hissed back, trying to shove the hairpin further into the lock.

A sudden click told her that she had done her job. Gathering up her bag and the various components of the escape kit, which seemed to have scattered halfway across the cell, O'Brien turned to the conscious guard with a menacing expression.

"Now make sure you keep your mouth shut; don't start yelling for your mates to come and untie you. I would gag you, but I'm far too nice to do that. If you try anything, though, don't forget that I know you work here. I've already broken a man out of jail, and I'm not going to let you mess with me." She finished the sentence with her most fearsome glare yet and felt quite pleased when the guard blanched.

"Right, this has been quite enough excitement for one evening already. Let's go."

o o o o o

Thomas strained his ears. Where had O'Brien and Bates got to? They couldn't still be in the cell, could they? Actually, now he was listening hard, there _was_ a noise; a sort of wailing. Only it wasn't coming from inside. It sounded more like…

"Oh, for God's sake."

Abandoning his position and running back across the drive to the car, Thomas was ready to sit down on the floor and bury his head in his hands. Ethel had completely disappeared and Charlie was lying on the seat next to Branson, crying loudly. Branson himself was looking absolutely terrified, patting Charlie on the head and mumbling something that sounded like 'nice baby'.

Thomas wrenched open the car door.

"What are you doing? What've you done with Ethel?"

Branson looked intensely glad to see him. "She just left Charlie with me and went off!" He gestured helplessly at the screaming bundle, still securely fastened into its rope carrier.

Thomas shoved the prison keys in Branson's face, leaned over to snatch Charlie from the car seat and pointed in the direction if the prison door.

"Since you can't manage to keep an eye on a young woman and a baby for two minutes, you'll have to switch jobs with me. God knows what this would do to Mr Carson's chart, but we'll have to improvise. Just wait by the door and if you hear a scuffle, run in and punch whichever bloke you see first. It'll either be a guard or Bates, and I don't care which one of them you knock out."

"Right." Branson made to walk away, but turned back. "Just don't try and start the car. Or touch the steering wheel. Or the gears. In fact, don't touch anything!"

o o o o o

"Shhh!"

"Be quiet!" O'Brien whispered back in Bates' direction. At least, she hoped it was in Bates' direction. The corridors were very, very dark. Having managed to leave Carson's flashlight in the car underneath a sack of provisions, they had been stumbling around the hallways and stairs for the last five minutes and, although they had avoided running into any guards, disaster could occur at any moment. There had been a nasty incident when O'Brien had tripped over Bates' cane and almost fallen headfirst down the stairs (she assumed it was poetic justice for tripping up the guard earlier) but she had managed to save herself without alerting anyone to their presence.

They must be almost at the back door by now…

"Ouch!"

O'Brien felt her heartbeat warp to twice its normal speed. They had just quite literally walked into a guard. Squinting in the dark, she recognised him as Ledford, the guard from outside Bates' cell who had been distracted by the telephone.

"Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The corridor was immediately lit up.

Now, O'Brien thought, would be the appropriate moment to run. She hoped Thomas would hear them crashing about inside and have the sense to open the door. She and Bates hurled themselves past Ledford, through a door and into the hallway.

The back door was at the end, but it was closed. There was also a reception desk manned by another guard who, at that moment – O'Brien shook her head in sheer amazement – was talking to Ethel. She was perched on the desk next to the reception window, swinging her legs and fluttering her eyelashes.

Ledford burst through the door, making a grab for O'Brien, who ducked out of the way quickly. Ethel squeaked in simulated terror, causing the guard on reception to rush out from the office.

At that point, the back door swung open and Branson fell into the room, immediately followed by the guard on the door who had let Ethel and O'Brien in earlier. Branson saw O'Brien and Bates and was about to shout something before the door guard barrelled into him and pushed him over. Struggling upright, Branson shot a punch at him, and within seconds, the two men were wrestling on the floor and trying to knock each other's teeth out.

This, O'Brien thought, would have been the most effective way to draw attention to themselves, should that have been their intention. The door guard, the guard on reception and Ledford were all present, all fully aware that Bates had just been broken out and all likely to beat them to a pulp.

There was now total chaos in the small hallway. Ethel was clinging to the reception guard – O'Brien had to admire her quick thinking – feigning terror and keeping him away from the fighting. Branson was fighting the door guard, clearly using the experience he had gained from many a drunken brawl as he swung wild punches in every direction.

Trying to ignore the shrieks and grunts coming from the others, O'Brien and Bates turned on Ledford, with Bates waving his cane. Ledford stared desperately at his colleagues, who were in no position to assist him, and aimed a fairly feeble punch at Bates. The valet dodged it easily and used his cane to pin the guard against the wall.

Ethel suddenly kicked the guard from the reception desk in the shin, pushed him over and sat on him. Seizing the moment, Bates herded Ledford into the reception office, slamming the door in his face and turning the key. At the same time, Branson gave the guard he was fighting a shove, sending him sprawling. With a triumphant expression, he knelt on top of him, keeping him pinned to the floor, and punched him hard in the face.

O'Brien stepped in.

"Branson!" The man stopped, his fist raised, and looked up. "All right, you've made your point. Assuming you haven't killed him already, leave him be. We have to get back."

Branson climbed reluctantly to his feet as Bates and Ethel gathered in the hallway.

"I can't thank you enough," Bates said earnestly. "Without you all, I would never have been able to escape, I would never have had the chance to rescue Anna, I -"

Ethel tapped him on the shoulder. "We don't have the time for a speech right now." She gestured behind her.

The door guard had dragged himself into a sitting position, the guard from reception was now upright and Ledford had managed to squeeze out of the reception window. All of them were looking exceedingly angry.

"Run?"

Three nods of agreement answered Bates' question.

They made a dash for it, Ethel grabbing the set of keys from the hook next to the door as she sprinted out. As the last one through, Branson managed to wrench the door shut behind him just before the guards caught up. He locked the door quickly with the stolen keys Thomas had tossed at him when they switched places, before flinging them down on the gravel, Ethel doing the same. The guards were now locked in, but O'Brien doubted it would take them longer than a minute to get out of the front door and sprint around to the car.

"Let's get out of here!" Branson shouted.

They sprinted across the drive towards the car, skidding to a halt as they reached it. Partly in shock.

Thomas was standing next to the car, holding Charlie and looking suspiciously kind. O'Brien couldn't help wondering if it was a guard in disguise and not actually Thomas – she could honestly say that she had never seen him looking that caring before. And was he…singing?

"Er, Thomas?" Branson looked like he was torn between fainting with shock and bursting out laughing.

Thomas turned scarlet, pushed Charlie back at Ethel and opened the car door violently.

"Right, I see you lot managed to follow the plan while I was on babysitting duty, so we'd better hurry up."

Charlie wailed and reached out his arms towards Thomas, who looked torn but climbed determinedly into the car. O'Brien followed him in, carefully closing the door without the provision sacks falling out onto the gravel. Bates somehow managed to climb into the back, sitting awkwardly on top of the ladder lying along the seat with his head almost touching the roof of the car. Finally Branson handed Ethel in after Bates before hopping into the front seat himself, and the car screeched off into the darkness.

o o o o o

The kitchen was utter mayhem.

The servants' dinner had not been served (Mrs Patmore had flatly refused to cook anything else on top of all her other work) so the maids were eating sandwiches as quickly as they could whilst tidying up after Mrs Patmore's whirlwind of activity, despite Mrs Hughes' warnings that they would all give themselves indigestion. Daisy, meanwhile, appeared to have taken control of the stove and was happily mixing away at something in a saucepan. An enormous chart on the wall, covered in diagrams and notes in Carson's immaculate writing, was beginning to droop at the corners from the steam that was filling the room.

After managing to get all three of the girls plus Cora changed for dinner, a rather frazzled looking Mrs Hughes reappeared in the kitchen. She had originally planned to settle down in her study and revise Carson's contingency plans, but the noise from the kitchen had become so great she ended up having to come and supervise.

At that point Carson burst in, looking like someone who had just had a terrible revelation.

"I have just realised that none of the footmen can be trusted to serve dinner. I shall have to do it myself. Mrs Hughes -" he turned to her dramatically "- I am leaving you in charge below stairs. I trust that you will deal with any situations as they arise to the best of your ability."

"I'm sure the footmen are perfectly capable of serving dinner without Thomas to supervise," Mrs Hughes told him, glancing at the rather offended-looking men and a sheepish Molesley.

"Nonetheless, this is not a night on which I need anything more to go wrong. At least I can ensure that everyone is being served from the left, not the right." Carson almost shuddered.

"Well, if you're sure," Mrs Hughes said doubtfully. "But what if the telephone rings? Should I answer it?"

"Of course you should answer it! It may be a matter of life or death!" Carson looked as though he was already regretting his decision, and Mrs Hughes cut him off hastily.

"Very well, Mr Carson. I shall keep order down here and make sure to let you know if something goes wrong." She paused. "Not that anything will, of course."

o o o o o

Upstairs, everyone was discussing Anna's kidnapping while waiting to go through to the dining room.

"Has Carson said anything to you about it since this morning?" Cora asked her husband.

"He hasn't mentioned it, no, but then he's been so busy I didn't like to disturb him," Robert explained. He turned to Violet. "Mama, one of the maids has -"

"Do you really think I don't know what's happened, Robert?" Violet sniffed. "I know everything that goes on in this house, probably before you do most of the time." She glanced at her youngest granddaughter, who had been rather quiet since the family had convened. "Don't worry about it, Sybil, my dear. I, for one, have every faith in Carson."

As if on cue, Carson marched in. "Sir Richard Carlisle has just telephoned, my lord. He regrets to inform you that he is indisposed this evening and so will be unable to join you for dinner."

"First Branson, now this," Robert remarked. "I hope there's not anything else going round, not after the influenza."

"Why isn't Sir Richard sleeping here, anyway?" Sybil wanted to know. "It seems rather silly that he has to stay at Haxby."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "We can't all elope with a member of the staff; some of us need to follow tradition."

"I did not elope!" This argument had taken place many times before, but Sybil still responded with spirit. "It was perfectly acceptable – it was a proper wedding. Just because most of the people you invited couldn't be bothered to come over to Dublin, it doesn't stop it being -"

Cora rolled her eyes at her daughters. "Shall we go through?"

o o o o o

Carson strode towards the dining room, balancing the soup tureen. He had left Mrs Hughes with various instructions, including a brief refresher on telephone etiquette in case of an emergency and was now ready to focus his mind entirely on ensuring the dinner ran smoothly with only one person serving.

Eight o'clock. Perfectly on time. Suppressing a beam of smugness at his flawless management, Carson entered the dining room.

There was a sudden banging on the front door.

"Police! We have reason to believe that you are harbouring a wanted criminal. Open the door!"

"What the devil…" Lord Grantham began.

Carson froze. Sybil turned pale. The Dowager Countess pursed her lips.

Just when things had been going so well…

* * *

**Dun-dun-daaaaah! Please review if you enjoyed reading - I would love to know what you think of the shenanigans so far!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Chase

**Thank you so, so much to everyone who has reviewed so far - you have no idea how much I appreciate it! Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter, but I've had exams and other busy stuff, boo. Anyway, I'll let you get back to the insanity!**

* * *

_Chapter Three – In which various maids act twitterpated, Branson is hysterical and O'Brien just wants a smoke_

An enormous crowd had formed in the kitchen, at the centre of which five people tried to make themselves heard above the din. Bates was dragged out of the crowd by Mrs Patmore, who, with much clucking and several uncomplimentary comments about prison food, forced him to sit down at the table before an enormous bowl of stew. Meanwhile Thomas, O'Brien, Branson and Ethel were all cajoled into re-enacting their escape by the more twittery maids. Branson and Ethel were in their element, dramatically running through their escapades (and exaggerating the less interesting aspects) to oohs and aahs of appreciation. A flustered looking Mrs Hughes oversaw proceedings and tried not to look too interested in the team's adventures.

"I'm dying for a smoke," O'Brien hissed to Thomas over Daisy's head. "Do you reckon we can sneak out the back, or will Hughsie have a fit about another person being kidnapped?"

Before Thomas could reply, a bell on the bell board rang sharply, startling everyone and silencing all further conversation.

"That's the front door. Thomas, go and see who that is," Mrs Hughes ordered, looking puzzled. "It could be Sir Richard deciding that he will attend the dinner after all; he isn't terribly fastidious about doing things properly, and he may have made a swift recovery."

Thomas looked as though he was about to argue but reconsidered when he saw the glint in Mrs Hughes' eye.

"She's taking her role as Mr Carson's apprentice a little too seriously, in my opinion," he whispered to O'Brien before stalking out of the kitchen.

However, he had only just started (very slowly) up the stairs before an agitated Carson charged past him in the other direction.

"Ah, Thomas, you're back safely." Thomas wasn't sure if Carson was happy about this or not, but he didn't have time to wonder about it. "The police have just arrived looking for Mr Bates. Delay letting them in for as long as you can, and hopefully if they decide to search the house, they will look upstairs first. In the meantime, we will hide Mr Bates away somewhere down here, so try and get us as much time as you can."

o

Thomas strolled up the staircase and into the hall. The whole family had gathered in the doorway of the dining room – apart from the Dowager Countess, who had insisted on being served before Carson left and was calmly eating her soup.

"I see no reason for my digestion to be disturbed on behalf of a number of silly men with uniforms. It would ruin my appetite for no good reason."

Isobel looked disapproving but chose not to comment for once.

Sybil looked most relieved to see Thomas back safely – she had obviously been worrying about Branson – but nobody else seemed overly concerned. Robert was apparently trying to formulate a response to his mother, and Mary was talking to Cora rather loudly about the flower arrangements for the wedding. Matthew seemed to be trying very hard not to look in her direction.

There was another hammering on the door.

"This is the police! Open this door at once!"

Walking at as leisurely a pace as he dared, Thomas moved over to the door and unlocked it.

o

"Mr Carson!" Mrs Hughes' hair was escaping from its bun, and she looked exhausted. O'Brien and Ethel were struggling to remove Carson's enormous flowchart from the wall. On the other side of the kitchen, Bates was being dragged to and fro by a frantic bevy of maids and was at that moment patiently allowing them to try and stuff him into the small space behind the stove.

Why was everyone so incompetent? Carson knew he should have remained below stairs to manage things. Perhaps this was an occasion when maids at the dinner table could have been excused. He would know for future reference (although – he shivered slightly – he sincerely hoped he would never be required to conduct such an affair again).

Carson raised his hand imperiously for quiet. "The police will be down any minute now," he informed everyone. "Up to this point, it has only been those directly involved with the escape that have been at risk. But now we are all technically guilty of harbouring a criminal and thus must all be on our guard."

Everyone seemed more excited than concerned by this news. Carson almost sighed aloud. Was anybody taking this seriously besides himself?

Dismissing the maids with a wave of his hand, he turned back to Mrs Hughes. "We must find a more suitable hiding place for Mr Bates than behind the stove. I considered this possibility earlier and I may just have an idea."

Of course you do, thought Mrs Hughes rather admiringly, of course you do.

o

"This is ridiculous," Violet sniffed. She eyed one of the policemen malevolently. "Young man, in the thirty years I lived here, never once did the police set foot in this house. Naturally my daughter-in-law is rather less capable than I was -" she shot a look at Cora "- but even she cannot be blamed for this farce. If I should be carried off tonight in my sleep, I hope you will cope with the knowledge that it was this shock that sent me to an early grave."

The sergeant glanced worriedly at Robert, who looked very tired.

"Please excuse my mother; she does not particularly appreciate being disturbed at mealtimes."

"We'll only be a minute, m'lady," said the sergeant, nodding nervously in Violet's direction. "I'm sure someone coming in the front door would have been noticed, so we'll just have a look downstairs, and then we'll be out of your way."

o

Thomas led the policemen into the kitchen with a perfect blank footman's expression. The sergeant joined Carson and Mrs Hughes in the hallway outside, while the other men enthusiastically swarmed into the kitchen, the pantry and the other cupboards and offices down the hall.

Ethel was back to her usual habits, Mrs Hughes thought resignedly. She was clinging to the arm of one of the policemen and chatting away. Charlie had managed to escape and was crawling merrily around the kitchen, moving dangerously close to Bates' hiding place, until thankfully someone spotted him and scooped him up. (Surely that couldn't be _Thomas_ cuddling him? She must be losing her eyesight.) Carson, meanwhile, was sounding very official and managing to confuse the sergeant with details about timings – Mrs Hughes just hoped the police didn't know about the rather pompous telephone call to the prison earlier that evening.

"Now, ma'am," the sergeant said importantly to her, having finally shaken off Carson, "have you seen anything suspicious this evening?"

Before Mrs Hughes could respond, there was a bellow from the kitchen.

"Oh no you don't! You stay well away from that table, young man!" Mrs Patmore shrieked, waving her rolling pin. The policeman who was about to look under the tablecloth of the small side table holding the wedding cake leapt backwards in alarm. "I've spent months getting the ingredients for that cake and weeks baking it. If one of you clumsy oafs knocks it on the floor then there'll be another murder, and Mr Bates won't be the one carrying it out. Now kindly leave me in peace!"

o

It wasn't until the sound of the police car engine had disappeared into the distance and the family had returned to the dining table to finally continue their delayed meal that Bates dared to come out from underneath the side table, being exceptionally careful not to knock it and send the cake tumbling to the floor.

The maids and footmen who had missed out on going to the prison were rather over-excited at having a more direct role in the plan. Bates, however, was beginning to get impatient. Leaving his stew to congeal on the table (much to Mrs Patmore's dismay) he began pacing around the kitchen and asking Carson what the next stage of the plan was.

"As I seem to remember explaining already," Carson sighed, "the most sensible thing to do now is to wait. The kidnapper is either a part of the household or very closely linked, and I have no doubt that they are aware of your presence and will be getting in contact very soon."

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson, I just – I can't concentrate on anything, not until I know if Anna's safe." Bates looked utterly miserable. "She could be anywhere, and we only have about three hours left."

"Three hours and sixteen minutes," Carson corrected. "And if we start getting too close to the deadline I will rethink. But -"

"Oi!" A voice interrupted from the back door, and Branson peered into the kitchen. "What've you lot done with the car? Is this some kind of practical joke?"

Carson looked indignantly in his direction. "Mr Branson, I hope you are not implying that anyone here would be foolish enough to play a trick in a moment of peril such as this."

"Where's the car gone, then? It can't have driven off by itself!" Branson was almost stuttering with anger.

Mrs Hughes stared frantically around the kitchen, mentally tallying up numbers.

"Everyone seems to be here – that is…" She looked puzzled. "Has anyone seen Mr Molesley in the last hour or so?"

There was instant uproar. One of the maids burst into tears and exclaimed that he must have murdered Anna and hidden her body under the rose bushes in his father's garden. Everyone else began talking at once, trying to work out who was the last person to see Molesley. The general consensus seemed to be that nobody had really noticed him since he had arrived, and not at all since Bates and the others had returned from the prison.

"There's nothing else for it," Carson declared. "We shall have to go after him. Despite the fact that I seriously doubt he has the competence to be the kidnapper, we must leave no stone unturned. And, in any case, we need the motor back."

"How are we supposed to go after him, though?" O'Brien objected. "We haven't got a car now, and I'm certainly not going to be trekking after him on foot. He could be anywhere."

"But what about the car?" Branson sounded quite hysterical. "He can hardly drive! What if he goes into a ditch? It could be permanently damaged!"

Carson cut off his protests. "Never mind that now, Mr Branson. The important thing is to get Mr Molesley back here so we can investigate the matter. The main problem is that we no longer have an effective means of transport." He assumed a ponderous expression.

Daisy looked puzzled. "I don't see why it's Mr Molesley that's gone -"

She was immediately hushed by Mrs Hughes and Ethel. Everybody was staring avidly at Carson, who looked as though he was on the brink of a plan. In truth, he had no idea what to suggest (he was in fact inwardly berating himself for not thinking of this possibility earlier) and was rather embarrassed by the dozen or so hopeful gazes set on him.

Thomas suddenly cleared his throat, looking very smug. "Mr Carson, if I might interrupt."

Carson looked wary but nodded in his direction.

"It occurs to me that you're all being very narrow-minded. The car isn't the only means of transport available for more than one person."

"If you're suggesting we use the governess cart, don't forget the horses were donated to the war effort, and we still haven't -"Mrs Hughes began.

Thomas's smile grew wider. "Not at all, Mrs Hughes." He paused for effect. "Mr Crawley has a tandem bicycle."

The kitchen went very quiet.

Matthew Crawley did indeed own a tandem. It had been purchased after the war when he had recovered the use of his legs; he had planned to take Lavinia out on it to explore the surrounding countryside. There had only been a chance for one or two trips, however, and after Lavinia's death, he had shown no desire to ever set eyes on the contraption again. It was currently languishing in the garage at Downton, covered in dust but otherwise undamaged.

Carson looked intensely relieved.

"Thomas, I believe that you have just come up with a very suitable plan." He paused. "Can anybody present ride a bicycle?"

There was a long moment of silence. Then O'Brien very reluctantly raised her hand.

"My brothers taught me," she mumbled in answer to everyone's looks of astonishment. "I can still remember, just about, even though I haven't ridden for years. Who else is going, though? It's a tandem; I can't ride it on my own."

"I'm going," Bates said instantly. "I'm not sitting around here while other people look for Anna. I have to be useful."

"Are you sure you'd be able to ride a bicycle with your cane, Mr Bates?" Thomas inquired politely.

Bates glared at him. "I'm sure I'll work something out, Thomas; I'm not about to abandon Anna now. I've succeeded in breaking out of prison, after all."

"Oh, harp on about it, why don't you?" O'Brien muttered. "It wasn't exactly a one-person affair."

"Well, that seems to be settled," said Mrs Hughes, glancing at the two of them as though she couldn't believe her luck. "Mr Carson, you should be heading back upstairs now things are sorted out, or they'll start to wonder where you've gone."

O'Brien looked annoyed. "Actually, it isn't settled. How am I supposed to ride a bicycle wearing these?" She plucked at the skirts of her dress, which admittedly were long and utterly unsuitable for cycling.

Carson did not look noticeably worried. "Luckily, Miss O'Brien, the majority of the escape kit had already been unpacked from the car, including various disguises and changes of clothes. I'm sure there will be something appropriate in there."

o

"Well, that was a bit of excitement for the evening," Mary said sarcastically, cutting a slice of ham on her plate up into smaller and smaller cubes.

"Mary, darling, you've hardly eaten a thing," Cora said anxiously. "You're not ill, are you?"

"Not at all," Mary told her breezily. "I suppose it's the anticipation for Christmas. Or for my wedding. Whatever it is, I've rather lost my appetite."

Always one to take the opportunity to busybody, Isobel started a lecture on the side effects of stress. Matthew looked worriedly at Mary, who refused to meet his eyes.

"Carson, I hope the police were not too disruptive downstairs," Violet said, talking right over Isobel. "On top of everything else you have to deal with, you were forced to cope with those men traipsing about all over the place. It must all be a great trial." She raised her eyebrows in query.

"Everything is fine, m'lady," Carson informed her, nodding very slightly. "Thank you for your concern."

Violet smiled in satisfaction.

"I'm sure our staff would be able to deal with any eventuality, Mama," Robert said, frowning slightly at her. He wondered if she knew something he didn't about the events of the day, but didn't want to look foolish by admitting his uncertainty. "No matter what the situation, they are unfailingly capable. And of course I would trust Carson with my life."

Pride filled Carson from head to toe. If he had needed encouragement to bring their plan to its conclusion, this was it.

o

Luckily the staff had been too busy to come and see them off this time, or O'Brien might really have died of embarrassment. She was sitting on the front seat of a tandem bicycle with Mr Bates, of all people, sitting behind her. She had just broken a man out of prison, was likely to be arrested very soon and was wearing a pair of men's trousers underneath her skirts.

She knew one thing for certain: she was never listening to that woman Lady Grantham again for the rest of her miserable life.

She cycled as quickly as she could down the dark lane with Bates perched very awkwardly on the back seat, his bad leg sticking out at an angle and his cane steadied against the handlebars with one hand.

"Can't you go any faster?"

No, O'Brien was tempted to say, not when I'm trying to ride a bicycle in a dress and not with a great lump like you on the back doing no work. She badly wanted to swerve sharply and send Bates sprawling into the road, but she decided against it.

"There's the car!"

O'Brien nearly did swerve at Bates' shout. She peered ahead of her and could make out the car in the darkness ahead of them. Molesley was crawling along at a snail's pace.

O'Brien jammed on the brakes and twisted around to look at Bates. "How are we going to stop him? He might run us over!"

Bates chuckled. "I don't think Molesley's the type to murder anybody."

You'd be surprised, O'Brien thought. He certainly hadn't been best pleased at Bates' return, and O'Brien had thought at the time that Bates had had a lucky escape. That shoehorn had been lethal looking.

"Hold the tandem, then. I'm not doing battle with him while I'm trying to hang onto this thing."

The car was moving almost at walking pace, so O'Brien only had to hop down from the tandem and jog over to the window. She tapped briskly on the glass.

Molesley jumped and blasted the horn violently.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, stopping with a jolt and opening the door. The car smelt slightly of sherry.

"Looking for you. What are _you_ doing?"

"Nothing." Molesley sat up very straight. "And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm doing fine on my own."

O'Brien snorted. "I highly doubt that. Did you honestly think you could go out by yourself and catch the kidnapper? Please say that wasn't your plan, otherwise I really will despair."

Molesley hung his head.

"Why didn't you tell someone instead of just heading out on your own? Are you mad?"

He looked very shifty. "You can't trust anyone. At least I knew that if I had the car, the kidnapper couldn't use it."

O'Brien stopped herself from rolling her eyes with great difficulty. "And who is the kidnapper, may I ask?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Molesley regarded her rather hazily. "It must be Sir Richard!"

O'Brien looked at him. Bates frowned, wheeling the bicycle over to them. "Don't waste time trying to make sense of him; he's completely drunk."

"Sir Richard can't be that ill," Molesley argued valiantly, trying to look Bates in the eye. "I saw him in the village earlier, and he certainly wasn't ill then. He looked _most_ suspicious." He gave a hiccup. "He kidnapped Anna, I'm sure of it!" Without warning Molesley started crying. "Anna…oh, Anna…"

"Well, someone's definitely been on the sherry," O'Brien said, glowering at him.

Molesley managed to pull himself together. "I was going down to the village to find out if he was in the hotel. Then I was going to look around and see where he was."

O'Brien turned to Bates. "This is ridiculous. We have to get back to Downton."

"What are we going to do with the car?" Bates protested. "We can't leave it in the middle of the road. Branson really will murder us."

"Christ, you're melodramatic, aren't you?" O'Brien muttered. "I don't know how you're planning to get it back – I'm not leaving Molesley in front of the wheel, and neither of us can drive."

"Didn't Mr Carson give you a driving lesson on top of all his other information?" Bates asked, looking surprised.

O'Brien snorted. "As if Mr Branson would have let me, Thomas or Ethel touch the steering wheel with a ten-foot pole! Mr Carson did give us a run-through of where the gears and things were, but that was as far as that particular lesson went."

"You're in a better position than either of us, then." Bates hooked Molesley out of the car, then held the car door open for O'Brien to climb in. "I'll walk ahead of you with Molesley and you can steer and follow me. That way you won't crash into anything in the dark.

O'Brien realised her mouth was hanging open. She closed it with a snap.

"I'm not driving! Where did you get that from?"

Bates looked irritated. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're the only one who might possibly be able to drive safely. Unless you want the kidnapper to win and the car to stay stranded in the middle of nowhere, I suggest you get in the car."

"Don't patronise me." O'Brien glared at him, knowing she was beaten and not being happy with it at all. She climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door, then leaned out of the window. "We're only a few hundred yards away from the house, thank Heaven. You will pay for this later, mind. Assuming I don't lose control of the car and run you over on the way back."

o

They parked the car a reasonable distance away from the house. They didn't want the family to hear the engine, plus O'Brien wasn't about to start experimenting with turning the car into the garage. She had kept the car in first gear for the entire journey and she had no plans to try anything more.

She and Bates were escorting Molesley along the drive, walking briskly in case kidnappers lurked in the hedges. That is, they were walking briskly until Bates stopped, causing Molesley and O'Brien to walk straight into him.

"What was that for?"

"Shush! Who's that?" Bates pointed at a looming shadow that was steadily creeping across the lawn.

O'Brien and Bates each seized Molesley by a shoulder and dragged him backwards until they were behind the side of the house, out of sight.

The figure was moving along the wall of the house, sneaking towards the dining room window. It was too dark to make out features, though that didn't stop O'Brien straining her eyes, trying to see.

Suddenly Sir Richard Carlisle's face was illuminated as he leaned closer to the window.

O'Brien nearly fell over with surprise.

He was clearly trying not to be seen by anyone inside, and once he stepped away from the window quickly, leaning against the wall and keeping very still.

"Molesley was right, then." Bates sounded very confused. "Why else would Sir Richard be hanging around here at nine o'clock at night after cancelling his dinner invitation? It doesn't make sense…"

"Never mind trying to solve it all now," O'Brien interrupted hastily. "Should we go and tell Mr Carson, or just grab Sir Richard and take him downstairs?"

Bates didn't hesitate. "We have to get him now. If he leaves, we might have lost our chance to rescue Anna. And remember, the note from this morning talked about further information. What if this is it?"

"Fine," O'Brien said. She wasn't in the mood to argue with Bates. "How are we going to 'get him', as you put it?"

"You just sneak up on him and bring him back by whatever means necessary."

"_Me?_ I'm not just going over there and grabbing him!" O'Brien told him, almost forgetting to whisper.

"You'll have to," Bates hissed. "We're not sending Molesley, and I couldn't manage with my cane. Don't knock him out or anything, just get him over here and we can take him downstairs. Mr Carson can deal with it from there."

"You managed fine with your cane earlier!"

"This is different. Just go over there!"

O'Brien felt ridiculous as she crept along beside the wall, keeping right to the edge of the house and shooting bitter thoughts at supposedly noble men who turned out to be less than noble after all. It took an age, but eventually she had tiptoed right along until she was standing barely two paces away from him.

This was the first time this evening that she hadn't had Thomas or Branson or even – God forbid – Bates himself to back her up. She was on her own, and she didn't especially want to act.

Not giving herself time to think about it, she reached out, grabbed hold of Carlisle's arm and pulled him backwards as swiftly as she could.

The shock froze the man for a moment, which gave O'Brien enough time to drag him back and away from the dining room window. However, once he realised what was going on he immediately began trying to wrench free of her grip.

Both of them were silent, fearful of the family overhearing the struggle. Tugging him backwards, O'Brien fervently hoped that Bates or even Molesley would come to her aid. Carlisle was taller and stronger than her and probably capable of overpowering her and escaping. It also scared her that, if he really was the kidnapper as Bates thought, he could turn very nasty towards her or Anna if she let him escape. That thought helped her to grit her teeth and pull him even further away.

Just as O'Brien knew Carlisle's arm would slide from her grip in another second, Bates appeared behind her. To her relief, she had managed to get to the corner of the house.

Bates seized hold of Carlisle's other arm. (For the first time in her life, O'Brien was genuinely glad to see him.)

"As you know, sir, I am a convicted criminal and have been accused of murder. In case you are unaware, you are also currently the person I think is most likely to have kidnapped my wife. It would probably not, therefore, be wise to attempt an escape."


	4. Chapter 4: The Search

**As always, thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far - it always makes my day to hear what you think! Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

_Chapter Four – In which Branson is still hysterical, Mrs Patmore gets violent and everyone is surprised_

O'Brien poked her head into the kitchen and blinked at the noise. Carlisle had put up some token resistance, despite Bates' threats, and it had taken several minutes to manhandle him down the rest of the drive and into the house. Now O'Brien was exhausted and all she wanted to do was sit down and have a cup of tea. However, it wasn't looking like there was going to be much chance of that for a while.

Carlisle lurked behind her in the doorway (at least, he did until Bates pushed him smartly and made him stumble inside), but he needn't have worried. Nobody even looked at him. Carson was rushing in and out of the kitchen, clearly dithering about something, and Mrs Hughes was trotting after him attempting (unsuccessfully) to calm him down. Everyone else was clustered in groups around the room, talking loudly and excitedly, apart from Daisy, who was struggling alone with the washing up from the upstairs dinner.

Suddenly someone grabbed O'Brien's sleeve. After the last few hours she was on edge, and she was about to push the person over before she realised that it was Branson. He looked pale.

"Did you find the car? Is it damaged?"

"It's fine; I parked it further down the drive. More to the point, what on Earth is -"

"_You_ drove the car?" Branson almost squeaked. Then he was out of the door, moving so fast that it almost looked like he had evaporated. O'Brien glowered after him and grabbed Thomas as he hurried past.

"What the bloody hell is going on? We just caught a potential kidnapper and everyone's ignoring us!"

"What's going on is that we just found another note. Daisy found it by the door, so the kidnapper has to be in or near the house." And with that he was off again.

O'Brien turned to Bates, exasperated. "We just found Sir Richard hiding outside and spying on the family! Is anyone going to take any notice?"

But Bates, at the mere possibility of Anna's discovery, had zoomed off after Thomas, leaving Carlisle standing awkwardly and Molesley lolling against the doorframe.

Carson finally noticed the arrival of four extra people in the already packed room – about bloody time, O'Brien thought – and strode over to them, holding a piece of paper and looking at Carlisle disapprovingly.

"May I ask what Sir Richard is doing here?" He fixed the unfortunate man with a stare that froze him to the spot before he could try to slink off.

"We found him outside, Mr Carson," O'Brien explained. "He looked like he was spying on the family, and whatever he was doing, he was acting very suspiciously, so we brought him in here."

"Quite right." Carson stepped up his glare. "Sir Richard, I have no doubt that, with all your connections, you will have found out about the events that have taken place here today. I must admit I have my suspicions about your presence here, but I will remain unbiased. In fact, I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation, despite the fact that you informed us all that you were sadly indisposed." His tone was politely inquiring, but it made Carlisle cringe even more. He didn't say a word, however.

"I'll get it out of him sooner or later!" came a threatening voice from behind the crowd. What appeared to be a heap of pots and pans with a pair of legs trundled into view, with a carving fork held in one hand and a poker in the other. Daisy brought up the rear, holding a wooden spoon and looking confused.

"Thank you, Mrs Patmore," Carson said, rolling his eyes imperceptibly, "but I don't think that will be necessary just yet. I assure you, however, that if Sir Richard needs any – ah – persuading, we will rely on you."

"Mr Carson, for heaven's sake, are you going to let me see that note or am I going to have to snatch it off you?" Mrs Hughes popped up behind him, her indignant voice raised above the chatter.

In reply, Carson brandished the note under her nose. It wasn't written in cut-out newspaper letters this time. Instead, it had been scribbled in pencil on a scrap of paper.

_Mr Bates, in the gamekeeper's shed in the woods, alone. __Now._

"What on Earth…?" Mrs Hughes didn't finish her sentence.

Carson stared around at everyone as though he would be able to detect the kidnapper by telepathy. When that failed, he focused his accusing gaze on Bates, who looked as though he was having some sort of revelation.

"Anna could be up there! I have to go _now_!"

He tried to make for the door, but was stopped by Mrs Hughes.

Carson frowned. "Absolutely not, Mr Bates. This kidnapper is potentially a highly dangerous criminal and we have to take precautions."

"We?" Bates looked confused. "The note says me, alone."

"As if I would let that happen!" Carson looked highly affronted. "It is very likely to be a trap, and it is vital that we proceed with the utmost care. I feel that in the interests of providing the maximum protection, the entire downstairs staff should go with you. The kidnapper wants to get hold of you, but they will not be able to fend off all of us. Dinner is over now, so we shan't be needed for at least half an hour, and we will undoubtedly have returned before then."

Daisy made a brave effort to break into the conversation. "I still don't understand -"

"Mr Carson, I couldn't possibly -" Bates' nobility was back in full force, but he was drowned out by the voices of the other members of staff who were all echoing Carson's statements about the necessity of safety in numbers with varying degrees of believability.

"You can't let us miss out on the good bit!" Ethel cried over the ruckus, making no attempt whatsoever to sound as though she was concerned for Bates' safety. "We've been through all this together so far. If you don't let us come, it would be like going to the pictures and leaving before the end!"

Carson ignored everyone, including Bates. "Enough of this. We must be ready to leave in five minutes."

"Even me, Mr Carson?" Daisy piped up eagerly.

Carson sighed heavily.

"No, Daisy, not you."

"Oh, I don't see why not, Mr Carson," Thomas drawled. "Daisy's been very helpful so far, I don't know why she should miss out on the fun."

Carson turned dark red. "This is not supposed to be fun, Thomas! We are dealing with a very serious incident indeed, and -"

"Never mind that now," Mrs Hughes interrupted, recognising the signs of Carson gearing himself up for a lengthy lecture. "If we're going to get there in time we must get going. Mr Bates, you can't possibly have imagined that we'd let you go on your own?"

Bates appeared to resign himself to the inevitable. "I'm not happy with it, but I see I'm outnumbered here. Anyway, I don't want to waste time arguing about it. I just – I need to find Anna. That's all that matters."

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of activity as everyone rushed about arming themselves in the way they thought most appropriate. Branson burst back into the kitchen from tending to the car (tutting and muttering about gears under his breath), and was immediately swept up into the melee.

A hushed consultation between Carson and Mrs Hughes ended with the conclusion that while Carlisle was almost certainly the kidnapper, the first priority was to ensure Anna's safety. Carlisle, it was decided, would be dealt with on their return. He was still refusing to speak despite Mrs Patmore's threats, and so it was decided to leave him in the kitchen under the cook's watchful gaze, tied to a chair for good measure.

At long last, everyone was ready and lined up impatiently by the door while Carson made last-minute alterations to the enormous chart that had been reattached to the kitchen wall.

"Thomas, are you coming or not?" O'Brien had become progressively more annoyed by the twittering of the maids and her desire for a cigarette. Now she couldn't even feel slightly happy about the prospect of potentially seeing Bates face the kidnapper. She must be going soft.

Thomas, who had spent the last five minutes lounging at the table and looking amused by everyone else's frantic preparations, glanced up casually. "Oh, I think I'll stay here, if it's all the same to you. Much as I'd like to see Mr Bates battered to death by an insane kidnapper, I have better things to do." He sent a meaningful look at Daisy, who turned pink and tried to hide her face behind the spoon she was holding.

Carson looked suspiciously at Thomas. "Very well. Although if you have any unworthy ideas in mind, I have no doubt that Mrs Patmore will put a stop to them."

"You should have more faith, Mr Carson. Charlie can't go with all you lot anyway, and Mrs Patmore won't have time to keep an eye on him, so I ought to do it." He snatched Charlie out of a surprised Ethel's arms.

"Charlie shouldn't miss out, that isn't fair! He played a starring role, after all."

"Don't be daft! He's had enough excitement for one evening. Just get going, unless you want Anna to have disappeared by the time you get there."

That ominous suggestion was enough to send Bates hurrying out of the door. Dignified as always, Carson followed him, leading the procession of servants out of the kitchen.

Thomas watched them leave and then looked seriously at Charlie.

"Daft buggers, the lot of them. I might not know who the kidnapper is, but I know who does. And we know how to find out, don't we?"

Charlie stuffed a fist into his mouth and looked at Thomas, apparently unimpressed.

"Yes, we do know! We do!" Thomas was about to tickle Charlie under the chin before he remembered himself. "Right. Now where's Daisy got to?"

o

With only a couple of hours to go until the midnight deadline, Carson was getting edgy. He fancied that he was hiding it rather well, but he had a feeling that Mrs Hughes had realised that something was amiss by the way she was staying close on his heels and not allowing him out of her sight.

The crowd of servants trekked through the woods, talking as quietly as they could in all the excitement. That is to say, not very. It was clearly going to be impossible to keep everybody calm for longer than thirty seconds. Carson had managed to terrify the more nervous servants into silence with ominous remarks about prisons and prosecutions, but the majority were having far too much fun to be able to contain their enthusiasm.

The shed was only a ten-minute walk away, but the darkness made it seem further. Bates was marching on ahead with Carson hastening after him, Mrs Hughes hastening after Carson and the rest of the servants following on in dribs and drabs. O'Brien trailed at the back, scowling at different maids in turn and feeling very hard done by. She hadn't had a chance to change her clothes after the cycling debacle, so she was wearing a too-big pair of men's trousers underneath her skirt. She was freezing, it was dark and she was fairly sure she had just stepped in something not very nice. Under normal circumstances she would have started making snide remarks to Thomas about Bates, but Thomas seemed to have been afflicted by the same insanity that was affecting everyone else.

They almost missed the tiny shed in the dark, but Carson swiftly overtook Bates and led the entire team around to the entrance. The key was in the lock. Just as everyone was about to fling open the door and pile inside, Carson threw his arm in the way. Bates cannoned into him, causing a small pile-up of servants behind him.

"Everybody stop!" Carson announced in a carrying whisper, rather too late. Ushering all the servants back from the door, he began checking something mysterious on the hinges while Mrs Hughes carried out a swift head-count.

After a few minutes of Carson examining the door in minute detail, everyone was shuffling on the spot impatiently.

"Well, when are we going in?" Ethel's piercing whisper broke the temporary quiet. "Come on, Mr Bates! Do the noble thing and burst in there!"

O'Brien rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the suggestion, noticing Carson doing the same thing.

"This whole plan could be someone's plot to murder Mr Bates," she hissed. "What if he opens the door and the kidnapper immediately kills him? Then today would have been a waste. Although that would depend on your viewpoint -"

"But if someone else opens it then the kidnapper might kill them first, and then get Mr Bates. The note said for him to come alone," someone else put in.

Bates seemed unconcerned at the prospect of his potential death, instead fixing Carson with a pleading expression. "Mr Carson, _please_. I have to go in. I need to find out if Anna's all right."

Carson stepped away from the door and cleared his throat.

"I have checked the outside of the door for booby traps," he announced, almost forgetting to whisper. "It is essential that everybody stands well clear. Once I have opened the door, assuming we are not immediately attacked, I need to check the inside of the doorway."

With a dramatic gesture, he turned the key, seized the door handle and pushed.

The door creaked open.

It was pitch dark inside the shed, and everyone leaned closer, ignoring Mrs Hughes' outraged expression. Then there was a sudden movement in the darkness – a glimpse of blonde hair.

Bates leapt forward, pushed past Carson and was inside the shed in a split second. In one movement, all the other servants raced after him, piling inside and shoving Carson out of the way, leaving Mrs Hughes standing alone and looking scandalised.

It took Carson a moment to recover from the indignity at being bundled aside in that manner, but he was an expert and swiftly pulled himself together. The unseemly actions of the servants were continuing, with shrieks and inaudible snatches of conversation coming from inside the shed. O'Brien, who had been forced inside along with the rest of the crowd, was trying to extricate herself from the doorway. Meanwhile there were two figures in the very centre of the group – Bates and a woman who had stood up in alarm when the door had been opened, a woman who was, at this moment, gazing into Bates' eyes as though an archangel had just appeared in the small grubby shed.

"Oh, Mr Bates!"

"Oh, Anna!"

O'Brien averted her eyes. Finally managing to elbow her way out of the doorway, she almost crashed into Mrs Hughes, who was trying to do another head-count. Coming to the conclusion that she was the only person likely to be talking sense for the next three minutes at least, O'Brien addressed her.

"Was there someone else in there with Anna? I'm assuming that either the kidnapper just got trampled by the maids or they aren't actually in the shed anyway."

"The latter, I think." Mrs Hughes looked puzzled. "It's difficult to tell, of course, but I do think that Anna must have been the only person there when we arrived."

Carson, who had apparently reached the same conclusion as Mrs Hughes, strode over to the two women.

"We must get back as quickly as possible. I don't know exactly what's going on here, but it is not making the case against Sir Richard look any better. We need to question him before we do anything else."

o

"Ah, Daisy! What a coincidence!" Thomas grinned, cornering Daisy before she had a chance to flee from the scullery. Charlie gurgled as if in agreement.

"No it's not." Daisy looked confused. "You knew I was in here. And you're acting funny."

"It's the shock of today," Thomas assured her. "But, funnily enough, I've been meaning to speak to you. Finding you in here must be fate."

Before Daisy knew it, she had been manoeuvred round and was perched on a stool while Thomas loomed opposite, pacing from side to side and apparently doing an impression of a detective in a silent film.

"Daisy, do you remember the time when I asked you to tell Mr Carson something for me? When I thought I'd seen Mr Bates taking wine, and I told you to say you'd seen him coming out of the cellar?"

"But you didn't see Mr Bates," Daisy objected. "You only -"

"Yes, yes," Thomas interrupted quickly. "That was wrong of me and I regret it now, but I know you regret it more. You remember how _terrible_ it was to lie to somebody, even when you knew it was to help somebody else."

Daisy looked unsure as to whether Thomas wanted her to agree or disagree. She settled for a half-shrug.

"But it's just as bad to try and cover up someone else's lies," Thomas continued, warming to his theme. "Maybe someone asks you to do something for them and you don't realise it's wrong."

"Like you lying about -"

"Forget about the wine, Daisy, we're not talking about that. We're -"

"But you started talking about it and now I don't know -"

"Well I'm not now! Just listen to me." Thomas paused. "We're talking about Mr Bates. And the person who kidnapped Anna."

Daisy immediately looked terrified and utterly guilty.

"I don't know! I didn't do it!"

"I haven't asked you anything yet! And of course I don't think you kidnapped Anna – don't be daft. I'm not trying to get you into trouble, Daisy. I just don't think it's fair for you to have to keep this secret. You feel some kind of _obligation_ to keep quiet about whatever it is you've seen."

Daisy looked bewildered.

"But you've got it all wrong, Thomas."

"What?"

"It's not like that. I've been trying to tell people all day. Miss O'Brien this morning, and Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes earlier, and other people too, but nobody's been listening to me."

Thomas felt a pang of – was it guilt? If it was, then the day's events had certainly affected him more than he had realised.

"You do know who it is, then?"

Daisy nodded mutely.

There was a moment's silence.

"Go on then, tell me!"

Then the kitchen door crashed open.

o

The kitchen was immediately flooded with maids and footmen talking loudly. Right in the middle of the crowd were Bates and Anna, holding hands and ignoring everyone else, a nauseated looking O'Brien stuck behind them. Carson brought up the rear, looking disgruntled.

"It must have been a man," Ethel was saying conversationally as she came through the doorway. "A hardened criminal, most likely, desperate and violent. Did you see him, Anna? Was he utterly terrifying?"

Anna tore her eyes away from Bates for a moment. "I don't remember – it would have been too dark to see much anyway, but I couldn't swear that it was a man. And I told you already, they didn't knock me out; that was only when I slipped." She shivered. "I'm just glad it's over."

"It's all right. You're safe now," Bates said softly. O'Brien glared at the back of his head. She had practically run this rescue single-handed, and what thanks did she get? Having to listen to this fool blithering on in a disgustingly soppy manner, that was what!

Her internal monologue was interrupted when Daisy rushed into the kitchen, panting. Thomas, holding Charlie and looking very smug, followed her in.

"Mr Carson!" Daisy shrieked. "I need to tell you something!"

But her voice was drowned out by a roar.

Everyone fell silent and turned to see Carlisle, who was still tied to a chair, and Mrs Patmore, still in her armour, at the back of the kitchen. Carlisle looked terrified, Mrs Patmore triumphant.

"Well, I got it out of him," she announced, clanking over to the servants who were all agog with anticipation. "While you lot were gadding about in the middle of nowhere, I was getting something useful done." She strode back to give Carlisle a sharp rap over the head with a spoon. "Do you want to tell Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes the truth, or shall I?"

Carlisle looked utterly defeated.

"I'm sure you're all assuming that I kidnapped Anna, though God knows why. I should have thought it was fairly obvious what I was doing here. The fact is that when Lady Mary becomes my wife -" Carson's glare intensified somewhat "- I want to ensure that she is mine in spirit as well as by name. I need to know that she no longer has any feelings for Mr Crawley. It made sense, therefore, to examine her behaviour when I am not present. After my experiences with the staff here, it is apparent that the loyalty for the family held by everybody would not go in my favour, so I decided to see for myself."

"You were spying." Carson's expression was growing more ferocious by the second. Charlie hid his face in Thomas' shoulder.

"Research," Carlisle protested weakly.

"Spying," Carson repeated, ignoring the interruption, "as well as trespassing. Since you have already broken the law twice this evening, why shouldn't we assume that you are also guilty of kidnapping?"

"Why on Earth would I want to kidnap a maid?"

Carson harrumphed and muttered a little under his breath, but didn't come up with an answer.

Mrs Hughes surveyed the servants. Mrs Patmore was far too overexcited after her success, all the maids would be useless tomorrow if they didn't get some sleep and Charlie looked exhausted after all the excitement, although he was still clinging to Thomas like a barnacle. She addressed Carson in an undertone.

"Mr Carson, while I appreciate that you may not wish to go to sleep with things still unsolved, I really think that the best thing to do now would be to lock Sir Richard in your office and deal with everything in the morning. We're all tired and I don't think we'll get anything useful done."

Carson looked ready to launch into a speech about a good servant never leaving a task unfinished, but stopped himself.

"You're probably right. I suppose we should leave any loose ends to be tied up at a later stage. In the meantime, it may be best to get to bed. There are, of course, a number of things that still need to be sorted out, but now that Anna is safe there is a little less urgency. Perhaps it would be best to put the entire matter in the hands of Lord Grantham tomorrow morning -"

Thomas, who had barely managed to conceal his impatience during Carlisle's revelations, took the opportunity to speak up.

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, Mr Carson."

Everyone swivelled their heads round to face Thomas, Charlie and Daisy, who had tried unsuccessfully to hide behind a chair.

"Daisy has something to tell you." Thomas gave her a poke to help her along. "Don't you, Daisy?"

Daisy looked petrified and couldn't meet Carson's disapproving gaze.

"I – I might know who the person who kidnapped Anna was." Her voice trailed off into a whisper as a collective gasp swept through the kitchen.

Carson looked highly suspicious.

"Thomas, are you behind this?"

"Certainly not, Mr Carson!" Thomas looked shocked and hurt. "I just know that Daisy's found something out, so I was encouraging her to tell you."

The maids, who had looked very disappointed at the prospect of all the excitement winding down for the night, were exchanging delighted glances. Mrs Hughes, meanwhile, was looking more and more livid.

"If you knew something, anything at all, why on Earth didn't you tell us this morning, Daisy?"

"I've been trying to explain all day!" Daisy looked miserable. "I didn't know whether I should tell or not, and whenever I tried I got interrupted or given another job, so I didn't know if it was the right thing to do." Several people looked rather guilty at Daisy's statement. "But Thomas convinced me."

"Go on then, Daisy," prompted Thomas. Everyone had gone absolutely quiet with their eyes fixed on the tiny kitchen maid.

Daisy looked very nervous. "Well, it's just that – you see, I was up a bit later than usual this morning, so I was downstairs at about six o'clock. I'm normally finished in the kitchen by then, but I was a bit late. So I looked outside into the yard when I got down because sometimes I get to see the sun rising, but obviously I couldn't, what with it being December and all. It was still dark, you know."

Carson cleared his throat. Daisy jumped and carried on talking very fast.

"Anyway, I saw a woman in the yard who could have been Anna, but I didn't think about it because I thought Anna was still asleep. Because I hadn't heard about the kidnapping then, of course. There was someone else with her but they had their back to me. I couldn't see what was going on properly, so I thought they must be going for a walk. Or something. So I carried on with my work and then I went upstairs to wake Anna and Lily. Except I couldn't, not Anna, I mean, because she wasn't there.

"I didn't wake Lily just then. I went back downstairs and I was going to find Mrs Hughes or Mrs Patmore, but the person who had been with Anna – or at least, the person I thought was Anna, but they must have been, really, because Anna wasn't, well – at least -"

Carson interrupted swiftly. "Yes, Daisy, we know what you mean. Get to the point, please, and be quick."

Daisy gabbled on.

"Well, after a few minutes they came back without Anna and crept back inside and I asked them what was going on. They looked quite surprised, so I don't think they were expecting to see anyone about. There wasn't any point hiding it now I'd seen them, they said, and I could help them as well." She looked miserable. "I didn't do anything like kidnapping, honest I didn't."

"We're sure you didn't, Daisy." Mrs Hughes was looking curious despite herself. "Go on."

"They explained everything," Daisy said simply. "They made me promise not to tell, and I don't like breaking promises. It was quite confusing and I don't think I got it all, but they had definitely kidnapped Anna, I remember that bit. Then they were going to write a note, but the newspaper arrived early, so they used that instead. They seemed to be enjoying it all, but I was worried about Mrs Patmore coming to shout at me. I'm not really sure if it was supposed to be fun or not; I was a bit confused then as well. But anyway, the footman who does the ironing is half asleep most mornings, so I'm not surprised he didn't notice the letters missing."

The footman in question gulped and tried to shuffle behind Thomas before Carson could focus his glare on him.

"They were going to take the note, but then they asked me to do it and since I was going up already I thought it would be all right. So I took the note upstairs and left it on Anna's pillow, and then I woke Lily."

"I see." Carson looked unimpressed. "And what other parts did you play in the plan?"

"I didn't do anything else!" Daisy looked terrified again. "I didn't want to get in trouble, and I was trying to tell people all morning but nobody listened to me. And _they'd _said that they were doing it for a good reason, so I didn't want to get them into trouble. Anyway, it wasn't my fault that Mr Molesley drank all the cooking brandy."

Everyone turned round to stare at Molesley, who was resting against the oven and had fallen asleep with his mouth open.

"Well, it wasn't _really_ my fault," Daisy amended. "He was getting ever so nervous and he kept talking about Anna, so I gave him a bit of brandy to calm him down. I only gave him a tiny glass, but I left the bottle on the side and then it disappeared. I suppose he must have – borrowed it."

Thomas sniggered.

"So none of it was my fault," Daisy carried on, determined to make everyone understand this point. "Well, not really. It was them that organised it – the person this morning, you know – not the first someone that was Anna, but the other someone -"

"Are you planning to tell us who the 'someone' is at any point, Daisy?" Carson asked with heavy sarcasm. "It may make things easier."

Daisy looked downcast. "Oh. I thought it would make it sound more exciting. In the magazine stories they always keep it a secret right up until the last minute."

"Well I suggest you get to the end of your tale with all speed."

"That's all, really. I thought you might have guessed who it was by now."

Everyone looked equally confused, and stared eagerly at Daisy.

"It was Lady Sybil." Daisy paused. "And Mr Bates too, of course. They were doing it together."

Mrs Hughes and Carson exchanged astonished glances. Thomas gaped. Branson sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

For the third time in the last ten minutes, the room was completely silent.

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**Dun-dun-daaaaaah! There's going to be two more chapters, one considerably more sensible than the other, and all will be explained very soon...**


	5. Chapter 5: The End

**Just this chapter and then the epilogue! Hope you enjoy. **

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_Chapter Five - In which Branson is shocked (several times), Sybil has no idea what the fuss is about, Anna and Bates are in lurve and Violet is all-knowing_

"Well, Mr Carson, for once you really can't blame any of this on me." Thomas sounded rather too smug for Carson's liking.

"Thank you, Thomas," Carson snapped, rubbing his forehead. He was thankful that Mrs Hughes had thought to fetch glasses of brandy for everybody – he for one was going to need it.

It was all rather like the final scene in a detective novel. Carson was sat at his desk in his study overseeing the crowd, and all the servants had crammed in and taken seats in chairs and on the floor. Mr Bates was lurking in the dark next to the doorway, apparently trying to make himself invisible, while Anna clutched at his arm. The two of them had scarcely let go of one another since they had been reunited in the woods, to the continuing and loudly-voiced disgust of Thomas and O'Brien.

Sybil herself was standing by the fireplace, her chin thrown back. Mrs Hughes had invented an emergency downstairs to lure her away from the drawing room ("One of the maids has cut herself, m'lady, and it's rather nasty. Would you be able to…?"). Sybil had vanished downstairs in the blink of an eye, leaving Mrs Hughes to try and stop Isobel from racing down after her to oversee the procedure.

Once she realised the true situation Sybil had not attempted to flee or do anything dramatic. Instead she had seized Bates for a brief whispered consultation, before suggesting calmly that they discussed everything in Carson's office. Of course, the other servants were not going to miss out on what promised to be a very interesting conversation indeed, and in the end Carson had caved in.

"Well, Lady Sybil," Carson finally said. "I confess I am not entirely sure where to go from here, so I suggest you begin your story at the beginning."

Sybil showed no signs of hesitation and leapt into the tale immediately.

"Well, it all started when I got a letter from Mr Bates before I arrived at Downton for Christmas. He told me about Anna, about how worried he was for her, and about his trial. I'd heard, of course, but it was still dreadful. Bates explained that he'd thought of a way he could fix things. He hadn't exactly come up with a proper plan himself, but he knew who could. Carson and Mrs Hughes always solve everything, and there are so many servants here that practically anything is possible!"

Carson was torn between feeling great pride in his highly trained staff and rage at the way they had been manipulated. He settled for taking a sip of brandy and listening very carefully to Lady Sybil's monologue.

"Anyway, Bates had decided that the only way he would have a chance of proving his innocence would be if he was on the outside. He couldn't do anything useful in prison and he was desperate to get back to Anna. The only thing he could do was break out. Now, he knew that he didn't stand a chance on his own, or even with Anna's help, but if he had all the servants helping him then he was far more likely to succeed. That was where you came in, Carson." Sybil granted him a nod. "The only part he didn't have covered was the actual kidnapping. He needed an obvious motive for himself, something worthwhile enough to leave jail. That was why he needed someone else to help. Mary might have told Papa, so it would have been too risky to ask her, and Edith really isn't a good liar. So Bates wrote to me. I thought it was a terrible idea at first, but then I started to consider it a bit more." Sybil's voice had the tone of enthusiasm it only gained when she was discussing women's rights. (Branson sighed, recognising the symptoms.)

"Did you honestly think that this was a sensible plan?" Carson rumbled.

"It's so romantic!" Sybil gazed beseechingly around at everyone, astonished that nobody could see things from her viewpoint. "I knew it wasn't _right_, not exactly, but it wasn't wrong either. Look!" She gestured over-dramatically to Bates and Anna, who looked rather self-conscious as everyone swivelled around to face them. "They're together now!"

"I'm not sure how much difference that'll make to the police," O'Brien murmured. Carson squashed her with a look.

Mrs Hughes spoke up suddenly. "But how did you get all the information about our plan? How did you know what we were doing?" She paused. "Ah. I should have guessed earlier, I suppose; you did tell me, in a matter of speaking. The incident in the garage…you foolish girl."

"I had to know what was going on!" Sybil looked defensive. "Tom was the only person likely to give anything away to me, and it wasn't difficult to get it out of him. He was rather distracted at the time."

"By the car!" Branson put in hastily, who was standing on the other side of the fireplace, gazing at his wife with a strange mixture of adoration and shock on his face. "I was admiring the – er – the headlamps. They're just fascinating – wait, what? You _used_ me?"

"I'm sorry, Tom." For the first time Sybil's voice didn't sound so confident. "I shouldn't have involved you. That was wrong of me and I regret that. I should have persuaded you to help us; at least then you'd have been doing it of your own free will." Branson spluttered indignantly. "Do you – forgive me?"

Branson suddenly felt exceedingly uncomfortable. Oh God, now everyone was looking at him. Including his wife, who was using the highly innocent and persuasive expression reserved for special occasions only. He gulped and cleared his throat. The room held its collective breath.

"There's nothing to forgive, Sybil. You did what you thought was right, and I can't criticise you for that. In fact -" Branson began to warm to his theme "- I don't see that you've done anything wrong. Why _should_ an innocent man -?"

"_Thank_ you, Mr Branson, that will do," Carson interrupted very firmly. Branson looked slightly disconcerted at being interrupted as he was just getting into his stride, but he fell silent. Carson continued.

"Lady Sybil, we must get this over with. Please tell us, in your own words, precisely what happened last night and this morning? Then we must decide how to proceed from there."

Sybil, showing no self-consciousness whatsoever as a dozen or so pairs of eyes fixed themselves on her again, returned to her explanation.

"I had it all planned out. After dinner I said I wanted an early night, and then I crept around to go and wait in the yard. I was going to sneak up to the maids' bedroom when Anna had gone to bed, but she came outside and it was too good an opportunity to miss. I was going to explain everything – well, not quite everything, but near enough – straight away, but she was startled and she managed to knock herself out." Sybil sounded aggrieved, as though Anna had hit her head in a deliberate attempt to thwart the plan. "Anyway, I left her in the garage overnight and went to bed, and then the next morning I got up early to sort things out. I took Anna out into the woods and left her in the shed. I explained what was going on then, or at least as much as she needed to know."

She was terribly worried about Bates, but I told her it was going to be fine. And it was, wasn't it?" She beamed at Anna, who still looked a little anxious and clutched her husband.

"I left the note back at the house – writing it with the newspaper letters was my idea; I saw it when I went to the pictures in Dublin. Bates had told me what to write. I don't know what the Turkish delight was included for. He wouldn't tell me," Sybil added with a pout. (Most of the servants immediately looked studiously innocent.)

"If anyone had asked me where I'd been I would have said that I'd just felt like a walk, but everybody was still in bed. And Tom was sleeping very deeply, you know, especially after our _exhausting_ time the night before."

Branson turned dark red, but Sybil ignored him.

"It was all going so well, but then Daisy saw me."

"And was there a reason for the time deadline tonight, or was that merely another 'good idea'?" Carson asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Well, not exactly. It was only because I thought I should be awake when Anna returned in case there were complications, and I didn't want to arouse more suspicion by creeping around the house in the dark again. And I need extra rest now anyway, what with the baby on the way -"

There was a crash as Branson half-fell onto the fireguard in shock. Nobody noticed, however – the noise had almost been drowned out by the collective gasp of the servants, and Carson temporarily lost control of the crowd.

"I was going to tell you later, Tom!" Sybil called over the rabble, looking mortified. Branson staggered to his feet again, seized the brandy from the mantelpiece and subsided into a chair, looking shell-shocked.

Carson glowered around – this whole event was descending into farce! A few sharp bangs on his desk with a hammer from the reserve escape kit swiftly brought conversation to a halt.

"And what about at dinner, when the police arrived?" he asked, determined to allow no revelation, however shocking, to get in the way of the explanation.

"Oh, that! I was terribly worried then. I thought I was about to be arrested, and I was sure Granny could tell that something was going on. But it all turned out fine, didn't it?"

Carson looked severe (Lady Sybil's definition of 'fine' differed rather sharply from his, but he let it pass for now). "May I ask what you were planning to do next? You do realise, I suppose, that Mr Bates is still accused of murdering his wife? Had he been recaptured the consequences could have been dire, both for us and for him."

Sybil looked smug, obviously pleased that she was one step ahead of everyone else.

"As a matter of fact, Bates and Anna were going to come back to Dublin with us."

There was a sudden explosion of coughing. It sounded as though Branson had just inhaled the majority of his brandy up his nose. Sybil carried on blithely.

"Bates wouldn't be entirely safe but he'd be out of the way and it would be easier to carry on researching his case that way."

"I would like to assure everyone that this part was not my idea," Bates interjected quickly. "Lady Sybil came up with it entirely by herself."

Carson surveyed the pair. "And – forgive me, Mr Bates, but this must be said – in the event that he is indeed guilty, Lady Sybil, what will you do?"

Anna looked anguished. Sybil looked astonished.

"Of course Bates isn't guilty! Anna married him, after all, and she ought to know. I'm sure we can find out what really happened to Vera – I expect you've already started coming up with ideas, haven't you?"

"That's as maybe," Carson said, hastily sliding a sheet of paper covered in notes into a drawer of his desk. "But I still think -"

"Then Tom can write an article exposing the hideous miscarriage of justice that took place, and everything will be all right!"

Branson looked highly alarmed at his increasing involvement in the new plan.

Mrs Hughes, meanwhile, was getting the impression that Lady Sybil was enjoying the drama of the situation rather too much. This would not do at all! She gave a subtle cough. Carson, who has been able to read her mind for at least the last ten years, immediately understood her meaning.

"Lady Sybil, while you are grievously at fault here, I cannot fail to notice that the original idea and much of the organisation was down to Mr Bates." Carson looked sternly at the man, who met his eyes squarely.

"I am innocent of murder, Mr Carson. I cannot deny that the prison escape, the events of today were unacceptable, but I would never have killed Vera, not under any circumstances. Never." The impassioned plea rang out in the silent room. (O'Brien rolled her eyes at the continued dramatics.) "I had to get out of that place, whatever the consequences were. I knew that I'd never be able to manage anything on my own, and Lady Sybil was the person most likely to help me."

"It was the best plan I could come up with under the circumstances, and it worked. I wasn't expecting Sir Richard to involve himself, but it helped in the long run, and everything worked out in the end."

O'Brien glowered at him.

"I'm assuming this plan had something to do with you sending me to get Sir Richard instead of doing it yourself? With no concern whatsoever for my potential injury and death?"

Bates looked worried at having O'Brien's rage channelled in his direction.

"Well, I wouldn't quite say that. It was the other note. There was nobody else who could leave it – Lady Sybil was at dinner and if Daisy knew any more about the plan it would be too risky. I had to leave it myself."

O'Brien's glare grew. Honestly, the nerve! And leaving her to be attacked by a madman with no idea of the concept of personal privacy (and also one who clearly wouldn't have been able to see Mr Crawley's infatuation with Lady Mary if it danced about in front of him wearing a corset – if Sir Richard hadn't noticed the many, many soppy glances exchanged between the two of them over the past months, O'Brien despaired for his obvious idiocy). Mr Bates was certainly not in her good books right now.

Mrs Hughes decided that this would be a good point to end the discussion for the night. O'Brien was looking murderous, Bates was apparently fearing for his life and Anna was almost asleep on her feet.

"I would suggest that everyone begins to go to bed. We are at a good position to leave things for the night and, in any case, I doubt there's much more we can achieve without a good night's sleep. As long as the family doesn't find out -"

Suddenly there was a rap on the door. Everyone stopped.

"Who is that?" hissed Mrs Hughes. "It must be someone from upstairs; surely they haven't found out about the plan -"

A clipped voice came from outside. "Is this door going to be opened before or after I die of old age? As much as I am enjoying admiring the woodwork, I do not wish to stand here all night."

Thomas sat frozen for a moment, then sprang up and opened the door.

The Dowager Countess swept into the room and looked around her disapprovingly.

"Robert is distracted by something or other; he always did have a very short attention span." She fixed Sybil with a beady eye. "I trust everything is explained now, Sybil. Of course, the truth had to come out in the end, but as long as no permanent damage has been done then I suppose it's all for the best.

Sybil looked thunderstruck. "You _knew_? All this time?"

"You might be able to fool everyone else in this house, my dear, but very little gets past me." She gave Sybil a look that could possibly be read as fond, if one viewed it from an angle. "You do remind me of your Great-Aunt Roberta. Such a strong-willed girl. But you must be very careful now, of course." She gave Sybil's stomach a meaningful look. "Robert won't be pleased to learn that his first grandchild will be a future radical, but I must say I've almost got used to the idea and I'm sure I can help you talk him around."

"Oh, Granny!"

The Dowager Countess looked affectionately at her granddaughter, then gave Branson, who was still sitting by the fire clutching the brandy bottle as though it was a life raft, a rather doubtful glance. "I hope you will prove up to the task, young man. If not… well, I _know_ people in Ireland."

Branson, looking like a broken man, managed to pull himself together, stand up and put his arm around his wife.

"We'll be fine."

The Dowager Countess still looked unsure, but chose instead to focus a glare of Sir Richard, who quailed.

"I suggest that you return to London tomorrow, Sir Richard, after ending your engagement to my granddaughter. You need have little concern for her feelings on the matter; I assure you she will be more than understanding."

With those comforting words, she turned to address the group, looking both pleased with herself and faintly approving of everyone.

"I really must be getting home. Branson, assuming you are still in control of all your faculties – you do look rather gormless, young man – I suggest you bring the car round. I am aware that you are no longer the employed driver, but the new chauffeur drives far too slowly for my liking, and I should like to have a word with you."

Looking terrified, Branson followed her out, closing the door behind him.

Ethel gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Well, I suppose all's well that ends well."

Carson predictably looked furious.

"I suggest you save that comment until everything has indeed ended. Kindly do not forget that Mr Bates is still in grave danger, and there is much left to be done."

Whatever Carson might say, though, there was little he could do to squash the atmosphere of celebration in the room. There was more than one person there who was thinking that this had to be the proudest day for Downton in all of history. It was too bad that it had also been highly secretive and illegal, but there was a fly in every ointment.

And the day was not over yet…

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**Please review if you enjoyed reading!**


	6. Epilogue

_It's the final chapter, people! Fair warning, this chapter is the most insane and OOC so far (blame my sister__). Thanks very much to **frostyblossom** for the excellent beta reading (and for being the Queen of Crack, etc.)_

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_Epilogue - In which everything gets silly_

Looking back afterwards, nobody could say how it had all started. Well, certain people could – namely Thomas – but it was over by then and, as he told an irate O'Brien, it had not entirely been his fault.

Sybil had returned upstairs to join the family and, if Mrs. Hughes had had her way, the servants would all have immediately gone to sleep after the excitement of the day. However, the maids had been far too eager to discuss the earlier events, and she finally decided that it would be pointless to send them off just for everyone to stay awake until all hours chatting away and over-exciting themselves. A hot cup of cocoa for everybody would calm things down nicely.

O'Brien, quite frankly, was ready to go to bed that second. She had spent a productive few minutes glowering at Carlisle, but now the shrieking voices of the maids were giving her a headache. She couldn't even go and complain to Thomas because he was still looking after Charlie and telling one of the twittery maids how he had single-handedly fought off ten armed guards and then rescued O'Brien, Ethel and Branson from certain death. She was beginning to think he was ill.

Right. She was going to her room right now before she got embroiled in any more 'excitements'.

At this point, certain slurping noises that most certainly did not sound like someone drinking cocoa drew everyone's attention to Bates and Anna, who were standing in the middle of the room and kissing enthusiastically. An even louder chorus began, ranging from Daisy's high-pitched squeal to O'Brien's grumbling. Someone else – the stories told later differed as to who it was, but O'Brien highly suspected Thomas – began pelting the couple with scones in a futile attempt to break up the scene.

Without breaking away from Anna, Bates batted one of the missiles back in Thomas' direction. Unfortunately it missed Thomas and struck Ethel with a glancing blow on the forehead.

"Oi!" she shrieked, seizing the nearest foodstuff to hand (a pot of raspberry jam) and preparing to attack. Her aim was terrible, and she managed to splatter the four maids and Carson who were standing behind Bates and Anna, while missing her target completely.

This was enough to encourage the less level-headed maids and footmen to join in the fray. Within seconds the air was thick with flying pasties, turnips and handfuls of stew. Mrs. Patmore was desperately protecting her pride and joy, the eight-tier cake, while shrieking about the destruction being wrought on her kitchen. Meanwhile Daisy was enthusiastically hurling semolina in all directions, and Bates and Anna, apparently unaware of the mayhem erupting around them, continued kissing for all they were worth.

It was utter pandemonium. Carson was literally too appalled to move and Mrs. Hughes was trying and failing to freeze people to the spot with fearsome glares. Taking advantage of her distraction, Thomas had rescued Charlie from being crushed by a falling marrow and whizzed off to wait in Mrs. Hughes' study until the insanity was over.

"Attack!" screamed a very over-excited Daisy, grabbing a pan of vegetable peelings left from before dinner and hurling them about liberally.

"Hah! Take that!" Ethel crowed as she flung a potato in the vague direction of O'Brien.

"My kitchen!" wailed Mrs. Patmore.

In fact, there was so much noise that nobody noticed the kitchen door opening.

"What the devil is going on—"

SPLAT.

Everybody froze and turned very, very slowly (even Bates and Anna let go of one another) to see Lord Grantham standing in the doorway, looking as severe as it was possible for him to look while his face and the majority of his suit were covered in blancmange. Lurking behind him were Lady Grantham, Mary, Edith, Sybil, Isobel and Matthew, with expressions ranging from horrified to entertained.

"Right!" shouted Lord Grantham. "Who threw that?"

There was a moment's silence, and then Ethel raised a trembling hand.

Nobody breathed.

Lord Grantham stared at her for a tense ten seconds.

Then he snatched a cream cake from the worktop and hurled it with surprising accuracy and speed into Ethel's face.

And the fight resumed with a vengeance. The maids, all having the time of their lives, had ganged up on the hall boys, most of whom were clinging to one another in terror. Lord Grantham was throwing more cakes in various directions, and Daisy and Sybil were sprinting to and fro, scooping up fallen missiles for their own supplies. Cora, meanwhile, was cowering in a corner and squeaking with terror, defended by Carson and O'Brien: Carson was clutching an enormous umbrella to shield her from the barrage of cakes (and was getting covered in food himself), while O'Brien stood by with a fierce expression, deflecting stray bits of food away from her lady with a roasting tray.

Edith had tried to imitate her mother and hide in another corner, but without any devoted servants to protect her she was fast getting covered in food.

"Don't just stand there, m'lady!" Daisy had apparently lost all her fear of the Crawley family this evening. "We can work together!"

After hesitating for a second and getting covered in a handful of flour, Edith skittered across the kitchen to where Daisy was building a neat pyramid of ammunition underneath the table.

The only people not involved in the commotion were Mary and Matthew, who were both still standing in the doorway. Mary was looking so disapproving that the various bits of flying foodstuffs seemed to be afraid to go anywhere near her, and Matthew was loyally staying with her in case any under-ripe vegetables came flying her way and she needed to be protected or to conveniently faint into his arms. A man could dream, after all.

He was distracted from his imaginings by a screech from Ethel.

"He's getting away! Stop him!"

Mrs. Patmore, temporarily distracted from guarding her precious cake, wheeled around to see where Ethel was pointing. Richard Carlisle, taking advantage of the insanity going on in the room, was attempting to creep out of the door and into the yard.

Looking irate, Mrs. Patmore abandoned the cake and charged over to the kitchen door to block Richard Carlisle's bid for freedom, followed by her small army of kitchen maids. A hail of raw vegetables, pickles and screeched insults swiftly drove Carlisle back.

"Sneaking off after everything you've been doing, are you?" Mrs. Patmore snarled. "If you think you can try to spy on the family and then just creep away, you'd better think again!"

Mrs. Patmore's voice carried, even over the noise in the kitchen, and Mary caught her words. Her head swivelled around.

Carlisle and Matthew both gulped.

Abruptly abandoning Matthew, Mary strode out into the kitchen and made her way over to her fiancé, who was looking ready to dig a tunnel to escape the nightmare into which he had stumbled. Matthew contemplated following Mary into the melee to platonically rescue her from any rogue cauliflowers, with absolutely no dramatic glances or sexual tension whatsoever, but he prudently stayed in the doorway and watched the scene from a distance. Despite the volume levels in the room, one didn't need to be able to hear what Mary was saying to appreciate that she was immensely angry at whatever Carlisle had done.

Then there was a crash. The back door flew open, very nearly missing Carlisle, and Branson staggered into the kitchen. He looked a little faint from the ordeal of driving the Dowager Countess home, and he could only stare at the chaos in the room with wide eyes.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Mary snatched a raw egg from one of the kitchen maids, smashed it over Carlisle's head (to the loudly-voiced shock of Mrs. Patmore and the gasps and shrieks of the maids) and then stalked back across the kitchen towards Matthew, whose expression was rapidly changing from half-amused to fully terrified.

"I think we should leave everyone to it, Matthew."

She seized him by the arm and steered him across the room. Mrs. Hughes, who had been watching the entire debacle with increasing horror on her face, called after Mary.

"Milady, you do know that's not the kitchen door? That's the -"

The store cupboard door slammed behind the two of them, and Carlisle stared mournfully in its direction, egg white clinging to his eyebrows.

Branson was still stood blinking around at the chaos, bearing a striking resemblance to a goldfish, and Sybil took the opportunity to seize her husband while he was still dazed and drag him back out of the door in the direction of the garage.

Meanwhile the food fight was still carrying on, but despite Daisy and Edith's efficient re-gathering of supplies, everyone was beginning to run out of ammunition. It was looking like events were going to wend their way to a natural conclusion, with food covering the walls and everybody sloping away sheepishly to clean up.

And that was when the catastrophe happened.

Ethel, who had been about to throw an entire bag of sugar at a footman, slipped on a puddle of jam, skidded sideways, screeched in the manner of a particularly dramatic banshee and grabbed at the nearest surface for support – which just so happened to be the table already straining to hold up Lady Mary and Sir Richard Carlisle's wedding cake.

Mrs. Patmore let out a shriek and dived forwards, but she was too far away. The table gave a dangerous wobble. Everybody was utterly silent.

The cake didn't actually fall straight away. The movement of the table had dislodged the topmost decoration, a man and woman made entirely of sugar and supposed to represent Mary and Carlisle in miniature, and it came unattached from the icing. It toppled, turned in mid-air and then hit the floor and broke into two pieces, which both bounced away in opposite directions. The female ended up underneath a cupboard, where the cat found it a few days later, and the male came to rest at Carlisle's feet.

In the silence, everyone was very aware of the suspicious giggling sounds coming from the store cupboard.

This dramatic and poignant moment was entirely ruined when the table wobbled again and the cake crashed to the floor. Mrs. Patmore whimpered and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. Everyone else was still being very quiet, and Ethel looked mortified.

Now that the hail of food had finally stopped, Carson had lowered his umbrella and was trying to do something efficient and business-like in a manner that befitted a butler, like issuing a sharp command or actually forming words.

But he was too horrified to speak. The state of the kitchen, the cake incident, the giggling and carryings-on in the store cupboard…and all this in his Lordship's presence! Carson made up his mind there and then to give in his notice the minute everything was cleaned up, or at the very least to never meet Lord Grantham's eyes again.

The silence was broken by the cupboard door swinging open and Mary and Matthew, who had apparently been having their own private food fight, emerged. They were both covered in flour and looked very flustered. Cora and Isobel looked rather smug at this turn of events, and everyone else instinctively turned to stare at Carlisle, who was looking as solemn as was possible for a man with egg still dripping off his face.

Slowly he stooped, picked up the male half of the cake topper from the floor and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

And then there was yet more pandemonium – congratulations were offered to Mary and Matthew, Lord Grantham and Carson both looked ready to implode with happiness for Mary, and there were possibly tears from Edith, although she would vehemently deny it afterwards.

Someone had the bright idea of dividing up the remains of the cocoa, which were miraculously still in a pan on the stove and had not been flung over anybody to cause third-degree burns, and soon everyone was sat around talking and laughing, especially after Thomas got to most of the cocoa mugs and spiked them with brandy. Daisy was deep in conversation with Edith ('Milady, you don't _need_ a husband! They aren't all that they're made out to be, I don't think') and Ethel was talking animatedly to Lady Grantham about Hollywood while O'Brien repeatedly asked her mistress if she was certain that she wasn't over-tired.

Sometimes all it takes is several rather illegal activities and a food fight to bring people together, Sybil might have said happily, in a manner that would have been sure to make the Dowager Countess sniff and say something disapproving about socialism.

THE END

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_I feel a bit emotional now *sniffles* If you've enjoyed reading, I would be so thrilled if you left a review; I'd love to know what you thought!_

_(P.S. Happy Downton Day!)_


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